Harry Potter and The Amulet of Houle
by Love Gordon
Summary: Sequel to HP & the Viridian Wand. *Now FINISHED!* What happens when Draco Malfoy falls through a time warp? What is the Amulet of Houle? And what does all this have to do with Ron and Hermione's daughter?
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

**PROLOGUE**

It was raining, and the castle was absolutely frigid. Even in the early summer, the chill of the stones still infected the inhabitants of Loryle. Especially the old man.

He lay in an old bed in the deepest caverns of the castle. Only his children, and their servants, knew that he had not passed on long before, that he was dying now, in the bed in which he had been born. His eldest daughter, Gwynned, had already selected an appropriate flower arrangement, displayed at the foot of the bier in the church chapel. Yes, his body would be there before long.

But Salazar Slytherin was not ready to die, alone in the cold and the rain, his children elsewhere in the castle he had built himself nearly fifty years before. He summoned his last bit of strength, and called for his servant. The amulet was heavy in his hands. 

The girl appeared in his door. She would be found by the Coven in a few years, but for now he alone knew of her talents. 

"Girl," he rasped, his voice creaky as the hinges of the rusty door downstairs, "Come here."

"Yes, Master," she replied, quickly coming to his bedside. "Do you desire a cup of water?"

"No. Have you learned of writing, what I instructed Gwynned to teach you?"

"I have, Master."

"Take the parchment, quill, and ink from my desk, girl. I am dying, and I want to you to take down these last words, and send them to the Headmaster at Hogwarts, to the North."

"Master, I will see that what you wish is done. I have pen and parchment ready." The girl now sat at his desk, quill in hand.

"Good. Start with this:

"Headmaster Ravenclaw, son of Rowena, I, Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four, address you. I am on my deathbed, and send you my last prophecy of the Future. These events shall befall a millennium after my death, but I know you shall ensure this parchment's safety through the being.

"You know I have seen the birth of a dark-haired wizard who shall rise up to become as great as I, to bend the forces of evil at his will, though in the distant future. But it has been made clear to me that he shall not be the final Heir. There shall come a brown-haired wizard, born of pure blood, unlike his predecessor, but he will take on mine through an ancient magic. This pureness of wizardry in him will make him greatest of the great Dark Wizards… One thousand years exactly shall pass before he will rise to power. This I, Salazar Slytherin, have forseen.

"End of letter."

The girl nodded, and continued writing for a minute. "Shall I seal it, Master?"

"Yes. Use the gold seal."

"I shall, and then send it off to post. Master, is there anything else you wish me to do?"

"Come over to me, girl. I have an even more important task for you." He coughed. She walked over to his side, letter in hand. "Here, take this. This is the Amulet of Houle, and within a few years you shall learn of its significance, but for now, all you need to do is protect it." He handed the girl the amulet.

"Certainly, Master," she said, and he could feel her surprise. 

"Go now, and tell no one of the amulet." Before the second of his grandmother's Daughters had made her way down the steps, Salazar Slytherin coughed, and died.

_ _

_Introducing………_

Harry Potter and The Amulet of Houle 

by Love Gordon

_Events occurring nearly a millennium before can still shake the foundations of the wizarding world… for a prophecy fulfilled threatens muggle-borns everywhere. Sequel to Harry Potter and the Viridian Wand._


	2. Part I: Morgan's Daughters

Amulet

_May, 2020 A.D._

The two women sat in the centre of the vast circular room. Thirteen marble pillars supported the high ceiling's delicate arch, and twelve men and women kept their silent watch, one to a pillar, the vacant one sticking out like a sore thumb. It was twilight out, the moon high in the sky. Some of its delicate light shone through the glass mosaic dome that was the ceiling; but most of the light came from the intricate candelabras, again, one to each pillar. The floor was also a mosaic, a swirl of gold and blue, a perfect counterpart to the celestial image overhead. 

A small table sat in the centre of the room, and this was where the two women sat. In the centre was a pool of water, but it was no ordinary water. It was the colour of gold, a sheer, translucent gold that one might have thought glass, if it had not moved with a soft inner current all its own.

"So, it is time I begin with our earliest origins, it is time you know your past. Our past," one woman said. She was the elder of the two; her dark hair had grown long over the years, and hung loose, spilling over her shoulders as she leaned back in her gilded chair, relaxed.

"Caro," the other said harshly, "Not now. You are not so old that you should pass on your position before your time. There are years to tell me this." She was not relaxing; she sat ramrod-straight in her chair, with her hands folded on her lap.

"No," Caro said simply, and she flicked her wrist. The flames of the candles burned brighter, and for the first time, the twelve watchers saw the two women clearly. 

The other woman was no woman, or if so, barely. She was but a girl, and her hair was pale brown, tied away from her face. She was not pretty in an ordinary way, but she was unique, interesting-looking. Her milky blue eyes shone luminously in her pale face, and her chin and ears were slightly pointed. The girl was dainty and elfin, like a forest nymph or water sprite, and she was beautiful in the most ethereal sense. But there was some note of unease and discomfort in her eyes, and her expression was guarded, a deliberate blankness she had mastered early in life.

It came as a surprise that Caro stood out in such sharp contrast. While the other girl was slender, Caro was painfully thin. Her dark brown hair was streaked lightly with grey, and her face was tired and worn. And while the girl radiated energy, the light was gone out of Caro. Her unusual golden eyes were no longer so golden; they were pale and tired, though they still smiled on the girl. The bones in her face stood out, and her skin was not its creamy shade. It was now of an even paler, even death-pale, wan hue.

"Oh, Caro!" the girl said, her voice sounding half-strangled. "I should have known."

"It would have served no purpose. But know this; my life is short. It is time for you to know." Caro flicked her wrist, and the lights fell dim again. She placed her hands over the golden pool in the table, and when she took them away, a craggy castle of weathered stone stood on cliffs high above the sea, where the pool of water had been.

The birds in theair flew about the castle, swooping and cawing in the living cinema within the table. It was possible to see a small figure up in the highest tower of the castle, but impossible to say whether it was a man or a woman.

"This is Tintagel," said Caro.

HARRY POTTER AND THE AMULET OF HOULE

_PART I: MORGAN'S DAUGHTERS_

In her third year of marriage to High King Uther Pendragon of Briton, Queen Ygraine gave birth to baby girl, whom she named Morgan Le Fay. Morgan was not their first child; she had an elder brother named Arthur, some two years old, who lived far away in the home of Sir Ector, but she did not know this. Neither did the vast majority of the Britons.

Her birth was celebrated with pomp and ceremony in the kingdom, especially in the castle of Tintagel, where the little girl was born. She was to spend her childhood in that old and gloomy castle in Cornwall; but knowing nothing else, it did not seem gloomy to her. Morgan's father was often gone, "to manage the kingdom", as her mother often said. When he was home, she was spoiled and petted, which she rather liked- for her half-sister Morgause, the King's bastard daughter, resented her and hated her. Morgan was only too happy to give her an excuse to be jealous.

When she was nine, the great enchanter Merlin came for a visit. It was her first encounter with the magical world, and the memory of it would stay with her for the rest of her life.

"Wash up, Princess. Your mother says to have you down before quarter-past, and it's already quarter-till. Tsk, tsk. All this finery to put on, for the sake of some rogue enchanter. Up, girl! We haven't all the time in the world," Sula said, fussing at her. Sula was her nursemaid, and Morgan considered her sort of a nuisance. She was rather fond of Sula, but all the same, she was a bother.

"I'm hurrying," said Morgan, as she slipped off her bed, where she'd been playing with the doll Mother had given her for her birthday. She was fonder of Mother than Sula, but twice as wary of the woman who had given birth to her. Queen Ygraine did not stand for nonsense or misbehaviour from anyone, especially her daughter. She loved her daughter; but in a way that never obstructed her firm hand with discipline and duty. Morgan, now heeding her mother's command, made her way over to the washbasin, and commenced sluicing off her face and hands. Sula threw a towel at her, so she quickly dried them, then took her place in the centre of the room.

"Now, stand straight. There... _However did you get that dress so filthy? You haven't been out in __this weather, have you?"_

"No." Morgan was trying desperately to stand straight. 

"You know what your mother will say to _that. No, I won't tell her this time, she's all a-twitter with Merlin being here, but next time there'll be a spanking for you. You may be a royal, but __that don't count for nothing with the good Queen, God bless her. Stand straight, I said! Arms up... there. Why, I rather like this colour on you, Your Highness. The red looks nice with that black hair of yours... dratted laces, I __told her she should have a tunic made, knowing you, it's be more practical-like."_

"I suppose..."

"Don't squirm so! But no, little Morgan Le Fay must have a dress she says, and her being Her Majesty I of course couldn't argue with her. Ah, the time! Oh well, at least we've the laces sorted out. There. Now, your shoes... not the boots, Princess, the nice ones... yes, those. You lace those up... Ah, here it is, the enameled pendant, that should do nicely. Don't it look pretty? Oh, dear sweet Holy Lord, the time! Go!"

And with that Morgan was scooted out of the room. She made her way down the long, cold hallway to her mother's rooms.

"Just in time!" exclaimed Guenever, her mother's lady-in-waiting, a woman of noble blood who served the queen. "Your Majesty, your daughter is here."

A tall woman with dark, raven hair came to the door. She was dressed in a gold colour that set off her daughter's red dress.

"Sula was supposed to send you early, Morgan," her mother said sternly.

"It's not my fault, Mother. There was trouble with the dress. Wouldn't a tunic be better?" her daughter replied. Ygraine motioned for Guenever to leave the room, and drew her daughter inside.

"Morgan," she said, "You are no boy, you are no heir as your father had hoped. I know he would rather you play the tomboy, but you are nine. In a few years you will be married, a Queen or Duchess yourself. It is time for you to grow up. No amount of tunics can remedy that. Do you hear me?" Morgan nodded. "Then let us go, we're already running behind schedule."

Ygraine took her by the hand, and they set off in the direction of the Great Hall. It was certainly not the first time Morgan had been in the room, for she ate there every night, but still she was struck by how honoured Merlin must be. They were having a banquet for him, in celebration of his coming, even if he was only stopping the night.

"Mother, how do we know this enchanter?" Morgan inquired curiously.

Her mother gave her an odd look. "We just... do."

"No, really, I'd like to know."

"He's your cousin. Didn't you know?"

Morgan gasped. "Isn't he... old?"

"Not so old." Ygraine smiled faintly. "He was still a young man when I first met him, and he has made himself a great help to Uther."

"Oh.... Oh!" They had reached the Great Hall.

Ygraine had had the walls covered in colourful tapestries, and the wooden tables draped in silk of red and gold. The best tableware had been set out, and Uther waited for them. He, like Morgan, was dressed in red.

But it was Merlin who caught her attention. He was a tall man, in his late thirties, though his hair was prematurely grey. The enchanter wore long robes of blue, and he carried a wand.

He smiled when he saw them, and walked over to them.

"My Queen," Merlin said, bowing. "It is my greatest delight to look on you again. I have brought a gift, from my travels..." He removed a silver, owl-shaped pendant with smoky blue eyes - sapphires - from his voluminous robes.

Her mother gasped. "Oh my... this is too much, Merlin..."

"Consider it a present from another, then." The enchanter smiled, and this time Morgan was sure he was referring to some matter that only he and Ygraine knew of. But he turned to her, bowing again, and all was forgotten. "Hello, dear Princess..." He trailed off, blinking in surprise. "Ygraine? Why, she is one of us, she is-"

"It does not matter. Forget it," the Queen declared, with a wave of her hand.

"Mother-" Morgan, protested, curious, but when she saw the look in her mother's eyes she did not press the issue. She curtsied. "It is a great honour to meet you, as well, enchanter Merlin."

"I think we will meet again, young Morgan Le Fay."

His silvery eyes met her own green ones, and she nodded in assent.

But they were not to meet again for three years. Fighting broke out in Cornwall, and Uther moved his family to Luguvallium in the north. Morgan grew to adolescence in the stifling silence of her mother's court; she knew little of magic, only the herbal healing lores that were passed down from generation to generation. Those needed so little magic that they might have been done by a common peasant instead of a royal daughter of the King.

It was not surprising that Morgan came to acquire her silence and invisibility in those years. Ygraine often shook her head in confusion when her daughter slipped in and out of the castle, with no one the wiser until she was late for some meal or banquet. Morgan took her punishments soundlessly, and many of Ygraine's ladies who had not known her since childhood thought her simple. But she was not; rather, she was torn apart, by this sudden coming of adulthood and magic she could not control. Magic is like that, for some, the power biding its time until the point where inner turmoil is greatest, then surging forth unbidden. And Morgan's power was worst; for she was a rare one with what they call the Second Sight, and she thought herself half-mad from her fortune-telling dreams.

But Ygraine, who had been a great sorceress in her youth, saw none of this. She did not see her daughter silently despairing and languishing in her torment, lost to the changes that had taken her by surprise. It was a time when religion and magic conflicted, when many thought it was impossible to separate one from the other. How wrong they were; and Ygraine ignorantly, willingly, gave up her talents when she became Uther's queen. She laboured under the delusion that her magic was sinful, for her faith decreed that she was a woman and should not have a man's power. And magic was frowned on anyway.

So things were the year Morgan Le Fay was twelve, when Uther died, and Arthur was crowned High King.

It was September, and already the weather was cool. Morgan wrapped her blue cloak around her as she slipped from the tower. She had been sent to her chambers alone that night, Sula and her other maid having gone to the banquet of state where she was forbidden.

_You are not old enough, Mother had said, __You will know of what passes later, it is best you keep to yourself. It is too great a matter for such a daughter._

This from the mother who had, three years before, told her she must grow up. Now she was too young to attend a simple banquet, for visiting Sir Ector and his men. She, who was on the verge of womanhood! Meg, her chambermaid, had been married off at this age. At one time, she would have raged with anger; but even anger was beyond her now. She no longer felt much of anything.

But she had to go to the banquet. A dream had come, again; those dreams frightened her more than anything else in the world. _The Sword, a voice had whispered, __He who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place. But his undoing has already been wrought...The Fay will be his foe, it has already been written in the books of the Goddess..._

Morgan was out of the North Tower before she sensed someone following her, someone who had mastered the art of his internal quiet as she had mastered her own. She spun around to face her follower, her raven locks whipping about her face.

It was the enchanter, Merlin.

She blinked in wonderment.

"Young Morgan?" he said, with equal astonishment. She bowed her head. "Why are you so far from the Great Hall on this fateful night?"

"My mother bade me to keep to my rooms, sir," she whispered softly. Morgan was no longer the outspoken child she knew Merlin remembered, and even so few words were rare from her. But she did not feel that the enchanter wished to force words from her; rather, that she was comfortable giving them to the old man she had met only once, but trusted.

Merlin shook his head. "She is not wise, in that. She would keep the kingdom's greatest sorceress in her rooms on such a night?"

"What!" she cried. "I am no sorceress, Merlin."

"She withheld from you even that, then? Then she is no one-time fool but a complete one. It is time you should learn what you are, young Morgan Le Fay. You are what once was a Lady of the Lake, when Avalon still stood in the realms of mortal men. A Maiden; and I am the sole male of their kind, so with training you would be as powerful as I."

Morgan gasped. "I, a Maiden? Then my mother has played false to me all these years, and my father, for my entire life I have known I am only a princess, and fit for nothing but woman's work and marriage. Often I have dreamt of the future, and thought myself a madwoman."

"You are a Diviner, then? It is worse by the minute. Morgan," he said slowly, "I cannot let the court know what you are; in pagan times they would have welcomed such things, but now magic is thought a curse, and worse in the hands of a woman. I think a day will come when the magical and non-magical worlds will separate, and in that day you would have the best of both, but now that matters not. Would you learn magic from me, in secret?"

"Yes, but I think we had best make haste to the Great Hall now." Morgan put her hand to her forehead. "_The Sword..." she murmured._

"The Sword? Morgan, what have you foreseen?" 

"H_e who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place... but his undoing has already been wrought... "_

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed.

"_Morgause," Morgan said, without knowing how she knew._

"Let us hope that our fears may come to naught... but for now, to the Hall!"

They raced toward the Hall, Morgan taking a shortcut she knew well. They ended up on the currently unoccupied balcony that overhung the vast room. From up there, they could see everything.

The High King lay in his chair, cheeks flushed, and he looked unwell. He had been sick off and on, for several months, Morgan reflected, but this was much worse than before. A tall, unfamiliar boy who looked like her father stood next to him. Uther coughed, and looked up.

"Daughter," he said faintly, though loud enough that she could hear him, "This is your brother, who I have named my heir before this... court..." He coughed, and coughed, not stopping until his face suddenly went pale and he slid down in his chair.

"**_Father!" Morgan screamed over her mother's wails and the cries that rang through the Great Hall. She ran down the stairs in the alcove off the balcony, reaching the ground floor at lightning's speed. Merlin followed her. Her mother clung to the chair, weeping, and the unfamiliar boy still stood next to the chair, in a daze._**

She stood in front of her father, who quite obviously was not of this world any longer. Strangely, she felt no sorrow for the man who was her father, only a little regret that she had never known him well, and a small gladness that he had not suffered very much at the end. Morgan never knew how long she stood there, a moment or an hour, before she looked at the boy, her brother, Arthur who bore the Sword.

"You have taken your due place," she remarked. Her words sounded awkward and stilted even to her.

He half-nodded, half-shrugged, but said only, "I have accepted the crown."

"So be it," said Merlin, and then to Ygraine, whose sobs had subsided somewhat, "Would you like me to take you to your chambers?"

"No," her mother said, "Can you arrange his body to rest for a night in the chapel, before the pyre?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then I will keep vigil by him this night."

Slowly, the room emptied of feasters, the fallen King was carried away, with Merlin and Ygraine at his side. Only Arthur and Morgan were left in the room.

"You are my sister Morgan Le Fay, then?" the High King said at last.

She nodded. "I am. You have already made an acquaintance with Morgause, I presume?"

A strange expression came over Arthur's face. "I... have."

"I know not of what you speak, brother, but I tell you this because you must be forewarned. _It will be your downfall." As Morgan said this, a chill ran through her, and she shivered._

"Are you some sort of witch, then, an enchanter like Merlin?" he asked fearfully.

"It does not matter. I should not have spoken of it to you." With that, she left the Great Hall. She knew Arthur's eyes were on her as she walked away.

**********************************************************************

The scene slithered back into the gold water with a little splash. It was a moment before Caro spoke.

"You know, of course, what Morgan foresaw," she said quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Mordred. Morgause seduced Arthur before he knew he was the King's son, and she would eventually turn his only son, begotten of that night, against him. They slew each other," said the girl slowly, still a little dazed by the magic of the table.

"I see your aunt has done well in teaching you the lore of coven."

"She knows more than people think." 

At this, Caro laughed. "Oh, Mica, you know as well as I do that Ginny Potter knows more than you or I could ever _imagine. Why do you think secrecy has been so enforced in the coven? It is rare even that Bearers know each other, rarer still that our Protectors know us as well. And the Squib… well, he isn't much more than a little boy, only eight, it shouldn't matter. You will be a much better Bearer than I. For years, I was warped by hatred of the man who killed my parents-"_

Mica inhaled sharply, not quite gasping. "Not you, Caro, you've been so kind. You _are kind."_

"Time changes everything. Eventually knowing he was dead, by your uncle's hand, was sufficient. I was embittered enough, once. It passes."

"I suppose," Mica said, in a tone not unlike Morgan's snappish one so many centuries earlier. There was an odd, unreadable look in her eyes that had been lurking there the whole time, but now shone through clearly.

"Are you angry, Mica? Angry with the woman who took you away from your parents, who killed them?"

"Not Lowell, I could never be angry with her. I only pitied her, you know, from the time I was a very small girl. She couldn't help being what she was."

"Then who?"

"Oh, Caro, you would never understand. We've never talked, have we? We've known each other for thirteen years, but how often have I seen you? Once every few years, like an aunt who lives far away, with the same polite courtesy. This is the first time in eighteen years that there are enough Protectors to even think about meeting frequently, and… and… you don't _know me at all. And I don't know you."_

Caro sighed. "Very well. I only want to help you, child, understand. But let me continue with this tale, because there are many things in the world you don't know, and should. As there are many things in this world you don't know, and shouldn't."

Mica laughed, bitterly. It echoed in the large room. "I know too many of those things already."

*************************************************************************

A girl lay in the dim radiance of dawn, alone in a small room barren save for herself and the bed that she slept in. She stirred, but did not wake, as the light of the sun's morning rays fell upon her face. The sun was bright in the room's lone window.

Over a year had passed. Morgause was wedded, to Lot of Orkney and Lothian, and her first child had been born dead, but another was on its way. Morgan had not seen her since, nor had she dreamt of her cruel half-sister. The past night's dream had been one of portents. The bed sheets and coverlet lay in disarray around her slender form; her raven hair lay in wavy tendrils around her head. She was still a girl; but in a year or two she would leave adolescence behind forever.

A cat hopped up on her sleeping form, nuzzling its owner.

"No, Diana, be still," the girl- Morgan- protested. "I'm getting up." She yawned loudly, and slid lithely out of bed. Stretching, she yawned once more, and opened the sole door of the room, which had a small hole cut in the bottom to accommodate the cat.

The room that the door opened into more than made up for the sparseness of the bedroom. It was richly furnished in shades of red. Directly across from the door was another door; to its right was a table neatly set for breakfast. The servants had been busy.

Morgan padded over to the table, poured a bowl of fresh milk for Diana (who purred appreciatively), and selected a bowl of gruel for herself. Before she had taken two bites, the yet-unopened door to the left of the table swung into the room. Merlin entered.

"What? It's not half-past six yet, and I'm not even properly attired!" she cried, startled.

"Hush. Arthur has negotiated a marriage to Uriens of Rheged. His men are coming to fetch you at quarter past seven for the ceremony. You must flee," the enchanter proclaimed.

"Why has he done this? Surely he knows I am betrothed to Accolon?"

"Certainly you are not unaware of the effect you have on the court. Everyone knows Arthur fears you, and there have been whispers throughout the court that you are some sort of wicked sorceress. You have not announced your betrothal yet, anyway; what a better way to dispose of you than marriage with his closest ally? It was Uriens' suggestion."

"I'm sure." She crossed the room to fling open a curtained alcove. Within it was a wardrobe that, while small, was so elaborate and costly that most garments would have been out of the reach of most queens. It was no small task to fit the majority of it into a large leather bag, but she began to, with the help of some muttered spells.

"You know, you would be able to do much larger spells with the help of a wand," Merlin said, drawing his wand from the folds of his robes. "_Reducio." The many items of clothing compressed themselves into a small pile. "The counter-spell is __Engorgio. Remember that for the day you have a wand."_

"Very well." Quickly, Morgan packed the bread, bacon, and cheese that had also been set out for breakfast into small parcels, and tied them with string. Then she gathered together her few books, jewels, and her clothes, and fit the whole mess into the leather bag. "Let us make haste; we should go to Morgause's court, in Dunpeldyr. I will ally with her against our brother, for even though she despises me, she hates Arthur more."

"You wish Lot as an ally?"

"I said nothing of Lot; he will think nothing of me, and as long as he wars against Arthur I will come to no harm. Through Morgause, I have seen his end."

"There will come a time when you would not wish your brother as your foe."

"He will always be my foe, Merlin." She looked straight up at him, eyes blazing. "From the moment I Saw his fate, I knew he would be my adversary, the enemy of magic, the enemy of women. He denied me a place in his court, or a seat at his Round Table, when I could kill them all. True, I would probably kill myself and innocents as well, for I have no control over enchantments as great as that, but they _would be dead."_

"Guard yourself carefully. Learn what you can from Morgause, but do not become corrupted by her. I would come with you, but I am bound to Camelot and Arthur."

"Then it is well you journey home," Morgan said with an air of finality.

"Here," the enchanter shoved a iridescent bundle at her, "Take this, and the horse at the edge of the forest. This is an invisibility cloak. Be wary, young Morgan."

"I shall." She held out her hands, palms empty, then suddenly she threw them outward. "_Apparatuo!" _

A mist of green surrounded her, the air sizzling with electricity. Her hair stood on end. She seemed to spin around dizzyingly for a few endless seconds, then she was set down.

Now Morgan stood at the edge of the forest, a few feet away from a shaggy-haired horse. Drawing together her bag and cloak, she strode over to the steed, heaved herself upon its back, and set off along the long, lonely path around the forest.

She clutched the horse's mane tightly with shaking fingers as she felt the Sight come over her. As always, the world went pitch black.

A booming voice in her ears shook her, echoing insistently in her head, hissing and low. _"The Fay has not escaped the Boy King's wrath! Evil waits at Dunpeldyr… She will offer power, but power is not freedom… the Lake is waiting…"_

_"I must go," she said, and the voice's response was so loud it hurt her ears._

_"Betrayal! The Fay shall betray the ones she loves, for wickedness lies ahead! The Lake is calling! Listen…"_

_"No!" The voice screamed, it was ringing in her ears, and the black became deeper…_

Some time after, she awoke far away from the castle, fingers still clenched tightly in the mane of her horse. Her knuckles were white.

The refuge Morgan sought in Morgause's court was hers, if for only a little while. The two sisters, formerly at odds, became fast friends when they united to work against the same foe. As it was once wisely stated, one's enemy's enemy is one's friend. In those months, seven total, Morgan learned more of dark witchery from her sister than she had even thought possible, more even than she had learned from Merlin. Gradually, she forgot the kindness of the old enchanter; now she thought him a doddering old fool, laboring under the High King, deluded as to the power he thought he wielded. She no longer held an allegiance to any of her family, save Morgause, and only because they had united in their quest to bring Arthur down from his throne.

Their main plan concerned a small boy, barely a year old, who lived with a few peasants in a small town north of Dunpeldyr. His half-sister had seduced Arthur before he knew that he was Uther's son; and a child had been born of that union, a son the peasants had called Mordred. Morgause had told her husband their first babe had been born dead, but that was not so, for her most loyal waiting-woman's sister and her husband now cared for the infant. Who, Morgause was pleased to note, bore a great resemblance to his blonde father, without a trace of Lot's darkness.

It would be years before the boy would be of any use to them, but that did not bother Morgan. She was mad with power; there were other ways to get to the King, and she could discover them. Perhaps the boy need never know of his parentage. For she feared it would give him delusions of grandeur; look at Arthur, proudly seated on his golden throne. If he had lived out his life as the second son of that impoverished squire, Sir Ector, perhaps none of this trouble ever would have taken place. She would have ruled well as High Queen.

But Arthur had not, and Morgan for one intended to make sure he held the crown of High King only as long as it took her to orchestrate his downfall.

If only she had been able to follow through with her intentions.

Scarcely a month after her fourteenth birthday, Lot declared a truce with Arthur. Uriens made to Dunpeldyr, and within a week he and Morgan were wed. He took her back to Rheged, but she pleaded to return to the court of her half-sister, refusing even to attend Arthur's wedding with Ygriane's former lady-in-waiting, Guenever. Uriens tired of arguing with the stubborn woman whom he was beginning to regret he had wed, and left for Camelot by himself, sending his wife of six months to Dunpledyr. Morgause was not attending the wedding either.

She had been at Dunpeldyr nearly a month now; it was August, and it was clear she wouldn't be leaving until winter. Fighting had broken out with the Saxons in the south, and Uriens was heading Arthur's troops in battle.

It was just as well, Morgan thought as she rolled over in bed. The baby would be born by then, and she'd rather have Morgause with her when the time came. Morgause, she reflected, already had two children and was expecting a third. 

She felt queasy for a moment. Then blackness engulfed her, and she knew the Sight was coming, for the first time since that spring.

To her surprise, no voices spoke. Colour slowly bloomed out of the darkness, and Morgan knew, though it had never happened before, that she was Seeing. Voices rolled out of the mist, and she saw, with a gasp of surprise, they belonged to her mother and Merlin.

_Ygraine lay listlessly in the vast bed, wrapped in blankets and propped up by pillows. She shivered, as if cold, and snow could be seen through the window, softly falling. Jewels lay across her lap, vast quantities of them. The room was dim, lit only by candles. The enchanter sat next to her on a gilded chair, his grey beard finally having become completely white. They appeared abysmally old, though she was only thirty-nine, he in his fifties._

_"What are you to do with all those?" Merlin said, in a gentle tone._

_"I'm going to send some to Morgan. She won't want much of the finery, but there are a few things… I can't make right all those wrongs with jewels, though," Ygraine replied sadly._

_"Dear Queen, forgive yourself. You couldn't know she would submit to the darkness, join with Morgause. She's not evil, she has been wronged, most terribly by Arthur. And it's not your fault."_

_"Oh, it is, it is! I should never have denied the Lady her, she should have become one of the Ladies of the Lake, not some dark sorceress. Morgan would be Lady now, if I had not-"_

_"The Ladies are dying out, as it is. Do not worry yourself, my queen."_

_"Worry myself? What else have I to do? Even if you will not admit, I know I am dying. Arthur's Guenever is dead, her and their poor baby with her, and my own beloved daughter has joined forces with that- that- witch Morgause! What have I wrought?"_

_Merlin, in a rare show of emotion, placed his hand of Ygraine's. "Nothing that fate had not already decided. Even if she had been given to the Lady at birth, Morgan would have turned away. And Arthur… she once told me that when the Sight visited her once, she was Told he was destined to be her foe."_

_"We are only instruments in the hands of God, then?"_

_"Who knows?" They sat in silence for a few moments before the enchanter rose and sighed reluctantly. "I must go, my queen, for Arthur demands my presence at his Table."_

_"Then go, with my blessing."_

_As Merlin stepped away from the bed, he paused. "Is that," he gestured to a small owl pendant with glowing sapphire eyes, "Is that what I think it is?"_

_"I have been working on it since the birth of my grandson," Ygraine said calmly. "It is an amulet to protect Morgan and any children she has and will have. Perhaps it has quickened my sickness, to be drained even of magical power, but so be it."_

_"Very well, then."_

_After Merlin had left the room, Ygraine separated the jewels in her lap into two piles; one for Arthur, and one for Morgan. The amulet, which hung on a silver chain, went into Morgan's pile, as did numerous rings, and one odd, un-mounted emerald. It was long, perhaps ten inches long, and cylindrical. The price of that emerald alone could have fed the entire court of Camelot for several months._

_"Here, my daughter," murmured the queen, "Here is your wand."_

Morgan awoke after this vision with one word in the voice of the Sight echoing in her brain.

_"Wait."_

The seasons passed. It was two and a half years before Morgan could put her ideas into action; Uriens was killed in battle then, when she was seventeen. By then she had two children; Yvain, her son, was two, and her daughter Sylvia was one. Arthur had remarried, to the daughter of King Leodegrance, named Gwenhwyfar. They had no children as yet; Morgan herself suspected the Queen was barren.

Uriens had taught her little of ruling the land, and she feared that she, widow that she was, would be overthrown. So she sent for Accolon, whom she had been betrothed to so many years before, and they married just weeks after Uriens's death. It was the first happiness she had known since Arthur came to the throne.

With Accolon beside her, Morgan created a coven. The Cassadaga Coven, she called it, for reasons known only to herself. It was an organization to protect the Viridian Wand, the emerald that she had turned into a wand with great effort on her part. Unlike ordinary wands, it did not amplify her power; it, instead, gave her complete control over it. And her power was endless, for she was one of the Maidens that had once become Ladies of the Lake, who had unlimited power. In the coven, there would always be one or two of these Maidens; the senior would be Bearer of the Wand, the junior would be Future Bearer, a Bearer in training. A Bearer served for nineteen to twenty-nine years; for Maidens were always born twenty to thirty years apart, and Future Bearers became Bearers when they were twenty-one. She lacked some foresight in this, assuming Bearers would live until the Future Bearers were twenty-one, but it did not worry her at the time.

There were also thirteen other witches, called Protectors, who were bound by the Coven's Creed to spend their lives protecting the Wand, its Bearers, and Future Bearers. That is, they had to do so until their chosen successors (usually their children) were of age (twenty-one). There was also a non-magical member of the coven, a Guardian, who would take away the Wand in times of trouble, so no one could do harm with the great wand.

So the rules were that fateful day, Morgan's eighteenth birthday, when she opened the first Meeting of the Coven in the Coven's house, an Unplottable palace near Maridunum, Merlin's birthplace.

"Protectors, I, Morgan Le Fay, Bearer, do open the first Meeting of the Cassadaga Coven," she declared. She stood in front of a table in the midst of a huge room, the ceiling of which was stained glass, and upheld by thirteen marble pillars. One Protector stood at each pillar, each with their successor. "And I read to you the Creed by which you shall live by!

"'As a Protector of the Viridian Wand, its Bearers, and Future Bearers, and as a member of Cassadaga Coven, I shall forever be silent as to the existence and purpose of the Cassadaga Coven. I will do nothing which will hinder the use of the Wand to ensure that justice is done. I will allow no use of the Wand except that ensures justice and/or the well-being, safety, and protection of the Wand, Bearers, Future Bearers, and the Coven.'

"First Protector, state your name and that of your chosen successor, then swear your allegiance!"

A woman stepped away from one of the pillars, hand in hand with a small boy.

"Queen Morgause of Orkney and Lothian. My chosen successor is my son, Gawaine. I swear my allegiance to the Cassadaga Coven, and that I will abide by the Creed." This was repeated around the room eleven more times, as Damien Malfoy, Sandry of Maridunum, King Melwas of Summer Country, Lind, Juliennes of Gaul, Merlin, Rhea of Rheged, Tydwal of Dunpeldyr, Guiomar of Gwynedd, Casso of Dyfed, and Mariona of Cornwall swore their allegiance to the Cassadaga Coven.

"Thirteenth Protector!" shouted Morgan to the final Protector.

Accolon stepped toward her, holding a small baby.

"King Accolon of Rheged. My chosen successor is our daughter Isolde. I do solemnly swear my allegiance to the Cassadaga Coven, and that I will abide by the Creed."

"And you, sir."

"I am the Guardian of the Wand, and I will protect at all times. I swear my allegiance," said a small figure in a woolen cloak, who sat near a door. Guardians were never to declare their identity.

"Then our ceremony has almost ended. Each Bearer, from now on, when they take their seat in the Cassadaga Coven, and when they leave it, must contribute a Tale to the Great Pensieve. I hereby submit my tale, of my life." Morgan touched head with her wand, then touched it to the golden pool in the centre of the table that stood in the middle of the room.

************************************************************************

"Just a year later, Morgan sent Accolon to steal Arthur's sword. He was killed by Arthur for his treachery, of course, and not long afterward she was caught in a rainstorm out on the moors. Almost immediately a high fever set in, and three days later she died. She was nineteen," Caro said. "The Future Bearer was born two years later. Nimue was her name, and she was the last Lady of the Lake. She banished Avalon and the lands of faerie to another Realm, and only when Morgan's descendants come to power can they open up again. Nimue also destroyed Merlin, for he was loyal to Arthur. Her daughter Aeris took Merlin's place in the Coven."

"So this is the legacy of the Coven, passed down from Bearer to Bearer?" Mica asked.

"Not quite. You see, there is still my Tale to submit to the Great Pensieve, and you need to hear it."

"What is this tale, then?"

"It is the story of your mother's discovery of the Coven, and the story of the Amulet, which it is your destiny to find and wield."

Mica blinked in surprise.

COMING SOON: PART II

In which Hermione researches incessantly, gets married, and discovers surprising things related to the aforementioned researching.

Please review! I have only gotten one review so far, and that's sort of disenheartening. So review!

Big thanks go out to Lissanne, my beta reader, and Mom, who has suffered through several versions of this story. J

You can email Love @ [zer0_gurl@yahoo.com][1] to complain that it takes her forever to write these chapters, or to praise her devoutly and worship at her feet. No, not seriously. 

   [1]: \cgi-bin\compose?curmbox=F000000001&a=30e9362f136862371c47ed1e6e9204de&mailto=1&to=zer0_gurl%40yahoo%2ecom&msg=MSG992897329.6&start=812679&len=73633&src=&type=x



	3. The Golden Ones - wee ficlet interlude

thegoldenones

The Golden Ones

(A little ficlet for y'all in between chapters. Also a desperate attempt at staving off writer's block.)

Water swirls in a golden pool…

… she is the fiftieth Daughter to stare into these waters. Who was first? The pool and the table were there before the coven. Perhaps memories live within that they cannot even dream of. Of a time where Faerie and Mortal realms were One. A time when Lady was the greatest governor in the land, and needed no Wand to wield her power, no Amulet to guard her followers. A time out of reach of the girl sitting before the ancient table…

…a small girl in black weeps at a funeral. "Lee! Lee!" she cries. A woman in a black robe that shields her face hushes her. She watches in silence as the two coffins are lowered into the earth. The air is chilly on her face. They are not the only mourners; there are tens, hundreds of mourners there. _Where is the boy? she wonders. He is not there. As they turn to go, she breaks away from the woman in black and throws herself, sobbing, on the ground next to them. "Lee! Where are you! Don't leave me!" __No, oh no…_

…"I banish you, in the name of Merlin, in the name of Morgan herself, until she or her children should choose your return to these shores!" the woman in white shouts, her bright eyes defiant, her red hair and the green wand she clutches emphasizing that fact. The island and the little people who had started to cluster around her fly back from her, from the shore of her land, but not fast enough. White fog, glistening with shimmers of silver and rainbow, rolls toward it, swallowing it up. Screams echo into the night. Nimue turns toward the Future Bearer. "You see how the great magic works?" The small girl nods…

…the circle surrounds the table, and a lithe girl, pale with dark brown hair, dances within that too. "Mother, bless us, your daughters, and your sons, let our blood consecrate us, so that Mother and Children are one…" Her slender frame weaves around the circle in shadows from the fire, she dances and dances until the moon is high overhead. She takes the knife from the table and cuts the tip of her finger, and touches it to the gold…

…A woman with bushy brown hair takes notes in class, listening carefully to her professor's lecture…

…"Mother!" says the girl, and again, "Mother…" "It is enough," says Caro, "It will be enough, as it was for me" The girl doesn't hear…

Water swirls in a golden pool…


	4. Part II: Ripples In The Water

Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

**Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle**

PART II: RIPPLES IN THE WATER May 2000

Hermione Granger sat at her desk. She was taking copious notes on the Puffapod potion, and the restorative powers it was known to have when taken in conjunction with the invocation of certain amulets. Professor Philbert was a rather pedantic lecturer at times, but the class's material was so fascinating that she could not help adding it to her course list nearly two years ago. Now, she majored in this subject, Magical Objects and Their Uses, and she was taking Level II Advanced Studies this year. The Ministry intended to hire her when she graduated from the London University of Sorcery in two years. But for now, all she concerned herself with was her notes.

"The Amulet of Ygraine was created over a thousand years ago, when Merlin presented his queen with a silver pendant endowed with two sapphires. This was at the very end of Ygraine's life, when Morgan Le Fay, her daughter, was the greatest of her concerns. With the last of her powers, she ensorcelled it to protect her daughter, and any children her daughter might have. However, the Amulet passed out of the hands of Morgan's children only two generations later, and has not been seen since," Philbert said. He paused. "Therefore, the Amulet of Ygraine is considered a minor amulet, though in combination with the Puffapod Potion it will fully heal its wearer.

"Our end of year exam is in two weeks, and in addition, I am requesting that you write a foot-long essay on the amulet of your choice, including its history and reaction to the Puffapod Potion. Class dismissed."

The twenty-some students in the room woke, collected their books, and slowly shuffled out of the room, blinking as they entered the bright afternoon sunlight. On her way out, Hermione stopped by Philbert's desk.

"Professor, what do you mean by saying that the Amulet of Ygraine passed out of the hands of Morgan's grandchildren? Was it stolen or sold?" she asked.

"No one knows what happened to it, actually," Philbert replied. "In fact, no one really knows much about it at all, despite the fact it was considered one of the most powerful amulets ever made at the time. There's never been a scholar willing to tackle the mass of information around it. You see, Slytherin was the last known owner of it, and his diaries…"

"Are legendary massive leather-bound books, nearly a hundred of them, never properly catalogued or inventoried. I assume Merlin's journals are as scattered as ever?"

"Yes. At least Slytherin's are in one place. Actually, isn't it about time for you to settle on a thesis topic? It's a project worthy of your research skills."

"Hmm… I'll look into it. Oh, look at the time, I've got to be off! Nice talking with you, Professor!" Hermione headed for the door.

"Miss Granger-" She paused in the doorway. "Congratulations on your engagement!"

"Oh," she said, startled, "Thank you!" With that, she entered the sunny afternoon outside, noticing none of it. For Hermione Granger was nothing if not a determined scholar, and the Amulet of Ygraine seemed a fascinating challenge.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"It's three in the morning, Herm," said her roommate, who was hovering over her right shoulder.

"…nrgh," she muttered, half-asleep. She was sure she had a lead, she'd been sitting at her desk in the flat's living room since eight that evening, translating the old Latin…

"Three in the morning. You have class tomorrow. Professor Zandel doesn't care much for sleepy students. I don't care if you sleep here or in your bed, but I am turning off the light." Ginny's tone was insistent.

Hermione yawned. "All right, I'll go to sleep. I just… I was researching…"

"That Amulet thingamabob you've been slaving over since June. Relax. You don't have to stress yourself out over it, you know- most students don't even _think_ about their thesis until they're seniors."

"I know, I know," she said, standing up. She yawned. "But if I get it out of the way now… I won't have it hanging over my head then. Or at least that's what I thought before tonight."

"What do you mean?" Ginny paused, her hand over the light switch.

"I'm thinking… research project. I could get a grant to study it. Yes, I'm totally serious. There are all these things I'm learning about it. You see, these-" Hermione gestured to the pile of books on the table, "Are all copies of Salazar Slytherin's diaries. I've just found the one concerning his experiments with one Amulet of Houle. The description corresponds exactly with the Amulet of Ygraine, but its powers are even greater. He talks about the Amulet's Companion-"

"That's wonderful, Hermione. And I'm absolutely delighted for you. Now go to bed."

One thing about Ginny, Hermione thought, was that she was never able to hold an intelligent conversation after two in the morning.

She stumbled, half asleep, into her room at the end of the hall. It was not surprising that her dreams were filled with strange things that night, though it was regretful that she did not remember them consciously.

**_So, she is the one who will bring about the end of the Dark One?_**_ a snake said, slithering its way across the sandy floor to the circle. A group of animals, perhaps fifty in number, ringed a large bonfire, which flickered and burned higher as the snake spoke. Yet, the snake did not move its mouth; it spoke into the minds of the other animals, in a voice (if it could be called that) that was like a red-hot iron, burning the words into their minds._

_**Her death, and her daughter**, corrected a cat, smoothing her fur. **Not she herself.**_

_A murky, shadowy creature, which at second glance was revealed to be a Dark Nymph, laughed. **You are so silly, all of you. The prophecies have been foretold. Trust in them. **She glanced toward the cat. **Especially you, Min.**_

_**Are you implying something?** asked the cat._

_**We all know how worried you were when that Future Bearer died**, a unicorn said sympathetically. **But nature made up for it in the end, without throwing us out of the loop.**_

_**Nature?** scoffed the Dark Nymph._

_**Show no disrespect! She is greater than you know, **hissed the snake. It glanced over its shoulder self-consciously. **She hears us.**_

_All of the animals looked guiltily toward their leader. She was pale and drawn, her mouth twisted in a grimace. _

_**You act as if I were dying**, said their leader wryly, if faintly. **It is simply the tug of the greater world. I have little time left in the between realms now. The spirit plane awaits me. It does not help that this is the time of the waxing moon, either**._

_**Has the transformation come upon you?** queried the unicorn anxiously._

_**Not yet**, their leader said. She rose to her feet from the great granite throne where she sat, though she wavered a little unsteadily. Her long blonde hair swung around her, brushing her knees, as she awkwardly walked forward._

_**What are you, anyway? It has always been shrouded in mystery**, asked a brown owl with golden eyes._

_**A weretigre. Much like a werewolf, but entirely extinct, except for those who are such in animagus form**, their leader said. She tilted her head to the side contemplatively. **Your next leader will be such, for I must leave you.**_

_**How long are you for this world, dearest Morgan?** asked a water sprite, reaching a slender blue hand to the weretigre's. **I have been here longest, next to you. Shall I go to the spirit world too?**_

_**A very little of our time, Daughter,** said Morgan**. A great deal of theirs. Your time will come, but eons after mine. Do not worry. Your next leader will be wiser, and you shall be the better for it.**_

_**Tell me of her**, said the owl. **Will she be like Lee?**_

_The cat and the owl, as well as many of the other animals, looked toward the empty space in the circle. Even Morgan blinked away tears._

_**Better**, she said. **She will return her to us. **_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was December. Hermione and Ron waded through the slushy snow on the Charing Cross sidewalks to reach the Leaky Cauldron.

"So, you have a surprise for me?" she asked breathlessly as they leapt into the doorway of the pub.

"You deserve one, after shopping for wedding robes all day with my mum," Ron said emphatically. She gave him a curious glance. "Oh, I know how she gets. We were in Madame Malkin's for _hours_ when she decided to take Ginny to get her dress robes there three years ago."

Hermione laughed. "'Hours' is about right. We were in Gladrags all morning and a good part of the afternoon." 

They made their way through the dingy pub and into Diagon Alley. Ron steered her towards an ancient shop. It was crumbling and decayed, but something about it made her heart beat faster. 

"Ron…" she said, a bit nervously.

"You'll see." He took her by the hand, and they walked into the old building. It was a curio shop, full of magical objects and old books. Hermione glanced around curiously, but Ron kept on walking. He nodded to the old man behind the counter before waving his wand at the back wall, muttering "_Alohomora_" under his breath as he did so. A leather flap appeared on the wall.

Wordlessly, he pulled away from the doorway behind it, and she stepped through.

As soon as they were both through, the portal behind them disappeared. Hermione gasped, but Ron appeared unshaken. They now stood in a huge room, something like a cross between a mad inventor's laboratory and a library. Books and strange mechanical gizmos littered every open space. A walkway ran around the upper half of the room, giving one access to yet more bookshelves. Ladders and little balconies were placed at sporadic intervals. 

In the midst of the vast space, there was a large table, covered with more of the intricate little machines. A man stood at the table, carefully assembling something. He looked up from his work at their arrival.

"Mr. Ronald! Miss Hermione! Welcome to my humble workshop," he said, taking off a patched cap and bowing vaguely in Hermione's direction. The little man- for he _was_ little, his shoulder stooped, his back hunched over in manner that suggested he spent rather too much time bent over his gizmos- straightened himself. "I have gotten the thing you asked, Mr. Ronald. Would the lady be so kind as to step over to the table?"

She glanced at Ron, who gave her a reassuring smile, before letting go of his hand and slowly walking over to the table. The little man picked up a worn roll of parchment, hardly large than a foot, certainly, and handed it to her. Hermione knew, from the feather-light weight of it in her hand and the musty smell, that it was old. Very old, older than anything she had ever seen before, save Hogwarts.

"Why… thank you," she stuttered, surprised. She had no idea what the parchment was, of course, but the fact that it was so old spoke volumes of its value.

"No trouble. No trouble at all," said the man, "It has been a pleasure to help you, Miss Hermione, and if you or Mr. Ronald should have any more interesting enquiries of such a nature, be sure to come to me. I hope it is suitable."

Ron spoke, for the first time since they had entered the shop. "I'm sure anything you've found is more than suitable, Aberforth."

The man laughed. It sent chills down her spine. "It's nice to know you have such faith in an old man, Mr. Ronald. Have a good day now."

Ron tapped the wall with his wand, not even muttering the opening charm this time, and in the blink of an eye they were on the street outside the shop.

"Was that- Dumbledore's _brother_?" she asked incredulously.

"Yup," Ron said, nodding.

"Is he quite sane?"

"Oh, no. Mad, utterly, off his rocker. Been that way for years. Very good source of information though."

Hermione shivered. "Let's go home."

They Apparated out of the wet street to Hermione and Ginny's flat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once they had taken off their wet overcoats, she and Ron sat in front of the desk she was fond of studying at. Hermione slowly unrolled the ancient parchment. They read the ancient, spidery handwriting in silence.

_Dearest Morgause,_

I am sitting at my desk as I write this. Listen, for I know I am not long for this world, and I also know that when you read this, I will be as dust in the grave. You must take charge of the Coven now, and seek out the future Bearer. I would that you had at least my Accolon to help you, but he too is gone, slain by our foul brother's sword. 

_Raise Sylvia and Yvain as you will; they are good children, if unassuming. Isolde is the only one intended for greatness. Remember that. I have placed an Amulet about her neck to protect her. I will write you of the Amulet of Houle tomorrow, there is so much I must tell you, but this is most urgent. The coven is yours now. Know this and trust in it._

_Morgan of Rheged_

Hermione was speechless.

After a few minutes, she managed to string enough words together to form a coherent sentence.

"Ron, this is- this is wonderful! I can't thank you enough," she said, throwing her arms around him.

He shook his head, laughed, and kissed her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Maid of Honour coming through!" cried Ginny, sailing through the bedroom door. Sandra Granger and Molly Weasley let her pass, and she threw herself on the bed next to Hermione, who was having her hair done by Penelope, Percy's wife. "Hermione," she whispered, "Look!" Ginny waved her hand in front of her friend's face.

Hermione gasped, seeing the ring. "Harry proposed? Just now?"

Ginny nodded eagerly. "We probably won't get married until June of next year, when he's graduating, but oh! _Mum!_" She turned around to face her mother. "I'm engaged!"

"My baby!" Molly Weasley enveloped her youngest child and only daughter in an embrace. "My two babies are getting married!"

There was a proliferation of joyful laughter and tears in the room. Fortunately, it was only nine on that March morning, and none of the woman celebrating had done their makeup yet.

After several minutes of elated euphoria, the five women calmed down and set about outfitting Hermione in her wedding dress, which in the end had _not_ been purchased from Gladrags. It was a gorgeous thing, in a grand Victorian style. Once Hermione's great-grandmother had worn it; now it was hers. It was of ivory silk that had once been white. It had aged and yellowed a little, but that did nothing to affect the loveliness of the dress. 

Penelope had done a wondrous job with Hermione's hair, and Ginny an equally marvelous one with her makeup. Her frizzy light-brown hair was pinned up in a Victorian manner similar to that of the dress, and a few brown curls dangled from it. The only makeup she wore was a light dusting of powder and a dash of wine coloured lipstick. She was beautiful.

Sandra Granger, for not the first time that day, cried.

"Why didn't you ever show me these before?" asked Mica, in an apparently submissive tone that those who knew her well shuddered when they heard. But Caro did not know her well, did she?

"It was not permitted, or even possible. The pool shows only what those in council in the between realms want us to know. I myself never knew the extent of this story," said Caro, blissfully unaware.

"How? It _is_ your story, after all." There was a perceptible edge to Mica's voice when she spoke this time.

Her mentor gave her an odd look. "Sort of. I gave it to the table, is all… I was never properly initiated, you see. It was a terrible thing, you understand… the true Future Bearer before me died when she was three, of an incurable illness. There was no one to teach me. The Bearer previous to her called upon the higher powers, as had been done only twice before, and one Maiden was born, out of the loop. She was born twelve years after the little Future Bearer died, and she lived only long enough to teach me of what she'd learned from the Bearer before her. She cannot even ascend to the council from where she is now, and that is part of your task. But enough of that."

Mica bit back the words she had been going to say. She sighed. "No, I want to know. I want to know what can be so important that you can show me now what you have withheld from me for years."

"Oh, you don't know how I wish I could! Oh, how I wish! The magical world is unraveling around us, and if I could tell you now-" Caro paused. Her shoulders slumped. "But I can't. The rites must be completed before I can. I will tell you this much: I could not do myself what Morgan asked. If I could, if I even knew how, I would work to my last breath to keep you from having to do it." 

To this, even Mica had nothing to say. She simply shook her head, lost in a fog of confusion and denatured rage.

"Do you know why I am dying?" asked Caro after a moment.

"No." Mica looked away, towards the floor. Her face was again unreadable.

"Because, as Bearer, I have certain duties to magic, itself. Even in the days before the Cassadaga Coven existed, there were Maidens who guarded the balance of magic. It takes a toll on us if magic becomes unbalanced, and we cannot fix it. I have been forced to bear the burden of unbalance since I was seven. For nearly thirty-nine years."

"Argh!" Hermione screeched. She was sitting in the middle of her living room in the house she and Ron had brought a few weeks prior to their marriage. Despite the fact it had taken a month to unpack all the boxes, that wasn't what was bothering her.

"What is it?" Ron stuck his head through the door.

"I have gone through every resource on this subject that I have. I have even gone to Hogwarts and ransacked their archives. There-is-no-letter." As his quizzical look, she continued. "In the letter you got me, Morgan of Rheged- Morgan Le Fay, that is- mentions a second letter about the Amulet of Houle. It was never written."

"Perhaps Morgause tore it up?" her husband suggested.

"That's impossible. I read in several sources that she always, _always_ cast the _Tonh Sirep_ spell on her letters, which made them indestructible, as well as other spells. Spells that ensured they would reach their recipients no matter what, and made them unreadable to anyone else." Hermione shook her head sadly. 

"Then how were we able to read the letter you have?" She had piqued his interest. Ron came into the room, scooted over a teetering stack of books with his foot, and sat next to her on the floor.

"The unreadability spells used back then tended to wear off after, say, fifty years. Since then, encrypting spells have been used instead."

"You know what I think, Hermione?"

"You're the auror, you tell me."

"I think," Ron said with a smile, "We should pay another visit to Aberforth Dumbledore. "

"Oh, that creepy old man? Oh, very well, he can't be much worse than he was six months ago. Now?"

"Why not?"

Hermione slipped on her shoes, and then the two of them Apparated to Diagon Alley.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Once inside Aberforth's mad workroom, the old man greeted them warmly, in his quirky fashion.

"Ah, Mr. Ronald, and Mrs. Ronald now, isn't it? Not so very long ago you were Miss Hermione, is that right?" Aberforth chuckled. "You let me have my little joke. Now, what errand have you come here on?"

"I'm looking for a second letter about the Amulet of Houle," Hermione said, summoning her courage. For although he looked harmless, there was something about the man that frightened her, and she was not a woman easily scared.

"The Amulet of Houle, is that it? The same thing as last time, eh? Well, would Mrs. Ronald be wanting that just now, or perhaps just looking?" the old man asked.

"I just want to know if there's one out there. Written by Morgan of Rheged, or Morgan Le Fay."

Aberforth laughed again. "Well, that I can do now, easy as it is, and for such a pretty lady and Mr. Ronald's wife, I'll even give you a discount."

He bent over and pulled a silver dish with strange symbols carved about the edge of it from beneath the table. Hermione thought that it might be a Pensieve at first, before she realized that the liquid that filled it was not silver, but a murky grey-green.

"_Hcraes Eht Dlrow Rof Morgan's Letter Second, of Amulet of Houle Siht Ro Retteb,_" he chanted, slowly stirring the liquid. The liquid turned white, and even though from across the room she couldn't read the blinking red letters, she assumed they spelled out the "Error Received While Processing Your Request" message that was echoing through the air. "I am sorry to tell the lady this, but no other letter exists. Would Mrs. Ronald like me to search, perhaps, for another document?"

"Yes, please," said Ron.

The old man nodded, and dipped his wand into the Pensieve-like bowl again. 

"_Hcraes Eht Dlrow Rof Document, of Amulet of Houle Kciuq Eb Eht Ylper Tnes._"

A large crowd of smaller red letters blinked in the bowl, and it read the list aloud.

"Diaries, Salazar Slytherin. Owner: British Museum of Magical History.

Letter, of Morgan of Rheged. Owner: Hermione Granger.

Papers, Cassadaga Coven. Owner: Cassadaga Coven. Not Possible To Obtain.

Papers, Various Malfoys. Owner: Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy," it declared.

"Would the lady like a printout, now?" inquired Aberforth, his hand poised over the bowl.

"Yes, please," Hermione said briskly. 

"_Ypoc Repap_." The bowl presented him with a copy of the list, and he handed it to her. "That'll be fourteen Sickles and seventeen Knuts."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Dumbledore." She extricated the money from her purse, and sat it on the table.

"Anytime, Mrs. Ronald. Anytime at all. Now, you and Mr. Ronald have a nice day. Enjoy the good June air." Aberforth tipped his hat to her.

"Just one thing. What does 'Not Possible To Be Obtained' mean, exactly?"

"Only that there is no possible way to reach the owner."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said, as soon as they had Apparated back home.

"The bit about them being un-contactable, you mean? Some wizards can be pretty crafty if they don't want to be found, you know. Look at Sirius." Ron wandered into the kitchen. "Want a cup of tea or a sandwich?"

"Yes on the one, no on the other." She followed him in, leaving her shoes on the living room floor. "How is Sirius, anyway? Had any near run-ins with him on the job?"

"A couple times." He handed Hermione a cup of tea, and she sat down on one of the barstools they kept in the kitchen. It was a nice kitchen, as kitchens went; there wasn't room for a table, but Ron and his brothers had installed a counter against the sole bare wall. Ron sat down next to her, a sandwich in hand. "I let him get wind that some Aurors are coming through town before we ever start searching for him. He's doing well."

"Good." She took a sip of her tea. "But I mean what I said earlier. It's absolutely ridiculous. The Cassadaga Coven must be reachable in some way."

"Darling," Ron said, placing his hand on her free one, "They're a bunch of vigilante wizards."

"Not necessarily vigilantes. If they're the coven Morgan refers to in the letter, they're a great deal more organized than you think."

"Well, if you know some way to infiltrate their organization, then, be sure to let me know."

"What is it about them that irks you so?" Hermione frowned. "All they want is justice. Surely they can't be that terrible."

"That's how I feel when they hunt down Dark Wizards who've killed thousands. But when they killed Alastor Moody because he killed all of Effluvia Nott's family as well as her, that's when I got angry. How do they know if they were Dark wizards or not? Alastor couldn't risk it." Ron shook his head. "He was a great Auror. I feel honoured to have known him."

"But he did kill both of Effluvia's teenage children, Ron. I knew the one who was in Ravenclaw, actually- Lorelei Nott was a first year when we were fifth years. She was a very bright girl. And they were only children! It makes me _sick_." Hermione shuddered. "It's just- you talk about the Cassadaga Coven as if they have no ethics. Yet, if what I think is true, if the Amulet of Houle is what I think it is, they were created to uphold them. I just don't have proof- yet."

"What do you need proof of?"

"You see, the Amulet of Houle was created from the Amulet of Ygraine in order to pass on leadership, and to protect the lineage of the leadership. If the Coven has a leader- and I think it does- the Amulet was intended to work to be passed down from leader to leader, but something went wrong. Morgan Le Fay, who must have been the current leader, died before she could pass it on." 

By now, Ron was very interested. "You _do_ know that this could be potentially valuable to the Ministry, don't you?"

Hermione smiled. "It's one way to keep an audience listening. You see, I think the Coven's source of power is the Amulet's Companion. I have no idea what it is, but if I can find the Coven, I can use the Companion to locate the Amulet."

"And why is that useful?"

Her jaw dropped. "Ron, you have been listening me ramble about this Amulet for a year now. And you don't know why it's useful?"

"Well, I'm sure anything you've been researching since last June is dead useful, Hermione, but no, I don't recall you mentioning it."

"It will heal its wearer if invoked in conjunction with the taking the Puffapod Potion. That much was known when I started out. But its _wielder_, the one who it is intended for, cannot be slain by magical means when it is worn. The catch is that the only way the wielder can where it is if it is placed on them by a specific person."

"Who?"

"Well… Slytherin says '_the __one who __bears no evil and feels only love and respect in their heart toward __the wielder, and whom the wielder feels the same towards' is the only one who can place it on the wielder. It will not work if the wielder places it on his or her self, or if any one else puts it on them."_

"Whoa." Ron said. "So it will only work if it's placed on you by someone you love and who loves you."

"Love is a powerful weapon against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, as she scooted her barstool a little closer to his.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The kitchen of the snug house that was home to Hermione and Ron was empty, save for the small kitty that was helping herself to the milk in a small saucer on the floor. Snow falling in flurries could be seen out the window, which looked out onto a meadow. Their home in the village of Godric's Hollow was beautiful, despite Harry's initial dismay at the fact they had chosen to live there.

A calendar on the wall proudly declared "January 2002" in little dancing letters. It hung directly over the phone, which suddenly started to ring.

Hermione dashed ungracefully into the room, ignoring Ron's cries of protest. She picked it up.

"Hullo?" she said in greeting. At the sound of her friend and sister-in-law's voice, she smiled. "Oh, Ginny, how are you? Shopping with Mum Weasley for the florist? You have my sympathy. Oh, I'm fine. Despite the fact that Ron thinks I'm not fit to walk faster than a snail. Did I tell you, Dr. Patil says we're having a little girl? Don't buy anything pink though- Red hair clashes horribly. No, magic can't tell us _that_ yet- but best to be wary. Most of those places have a 30-day return period. Why are you in that baby store anyway? She's not due until May. Oh, yes, that's a good idea. Let Harry pick out the flowers, Mum won't argue with _him_."

"I've got to be off- business meeting!" Ron ducked in to the kitchen and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Tell Ginny hello for me." She smiled again, blowing him a kiss as he Apparated.

"Ron says hello- no, he's gone off to some business meeting now, sorry. Oh, you know as well as I do he's probably going to chase down some dark wizard who'll turn out to be a Muggle hermit again. They can't all be windmills, can they now? Just because we think Voldemort is dead doesn't mean he is. We never found his body after all. Oh, don't worry about upsetting me, Ginny- I don't worry. I'm sure with Ron and Harry around we needn't worry about him. Got to go? Well, have fun shopping with Mum!"

Hermione turned on the stove and put a kettle of water on to boil, as she felt like a cup of cocoa on such a cold day. She sat down at the counter with the day's copy of the Daily Prophet. About five minutes later she heard the sudden _whoosh_ that meant Ron had Apparated back into the kitchen again. She raised an eyebrow. She raised the other one when she heard three slightly different _whoosh_es following him.

"Ron? Molly? Harry and Ginny? What are you all _doing_ here?"

"Voldemort. He's back," said Harry grimly. Ginny was shaking, and standing upright only because she was hanging onto him.

"He… he blew up the florist's," Mrs. Weasley said shakily. "Harry and I had just stepped out to get Ginny. Did they know we were there?"

"Could be," Ron said. "It doesn't matter. I heard the explosion from the office, two buildings down. Hermione, they've got to stay here. We can cast protection charms or something, but they can't go back to London. And before you ask, Mum, the Burrow may not be too safe either."

"**_No_**." Harry said forcefully. They all turned to look at him. "You never should have bought a house here in the first place. We'll all die if we stay here. I _know_."

"Hogwarts?" Hermione offered. "He'd never dare attack there."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Dumbledore will let us stay there, I know. Do you have any robes you could lend Ginny? Because we are _not_ going back to London."

"I could stop at the Burrow, though, and pick up Mum's things," Ron interjected.

"I'll get ours," said Hermione, "And I have some things for Ginny, and I'm sure you have something Harry could borrow."

"So we'll all meet in Hogsmeade in half an hour?" Ron asked.

Everyone agreed.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"Of course you can stay here!" exclaimed Albus Dumbledore, looking shocked. "I wouldn't have expected you to go anywhere else. Hermione, I know you've been commuting to LUS for your classes- perhaps one of the Professors could supervise your studies, instead?" The six refugees (who had upped their number by one when Ron had, in addition to picking up his mother's clothes, also brought his father from the burrow) now stood in the Headmaster's office.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, Headmaster-" Hermione said.

Dumbledore interrupted her. "You can call me Albus, you know. You're not a student anymore, after all."

"Well- I'd be delighted, Albus, if Professor McGonagall could."

"It can be arranged." He looked to Harry and Ron with twinkling eyes. "I'm sure the Ministry would not mind greatly if we replaced the two Aurors that they will, inevitably, send us with you."

"We'd be honoured," Harry replied.

"Perhaps, Ms. Weasley, you could share with us some of your talent in Divination by helping Professor Bell with her classes? She knows the books very well, but it would be a great help to her to have experience with a genuine Seer."

Ginny smiled. She was a little less shaken by now. "Certainly. Is that Katie Bell, from Gryffindor?"

"Yes, in fact. Do you know her?"

"I did once. Frankly, I never thought she would end up teaching Divination."

"I do not think she did, at the time. Ah, and the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, you needn't worry about doing a thing. I'm quite happy to have such distinguished alumni for my guests."

Both of the elder Weasleys mumbled their thanks shyly.

"Perhaps I could have a house-elf or two show you to your rooms?" offered Dumbledore.

Hermione struggled to say nothing.

"I'd appreciate it, yes," said Arthur Weasley, and everyone else nodded their consent.

"Well, here's Dobby, and he'll show you the way."

"I was born at Hogwarts?" asked Mica, startled. Caro nodded.

"Yes. I was there, you know. I knew by then you were to be the Future Bearer, and I came to see your parents the night you were born. Poppy Pomfrey was the only medical staff they had, but everything went just fine," she said. "Hadn't anyone ever told you?"

"No." Mica shook her head. "Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry- they talk about Mum and Dad, Ginny more often than Harry, but never about the time after Hogwarts. Well, almost never. I knew my mother went to LUS, like I'm going to, but I never knew about a thesis project, or that they were at Hogwarts that year at all."

"Does Harry talk about his parents at all?" asked Caro, a sad half-smile on her face.

"Sometimes. I asked him once, when I was fourteen, if he remembered them. He told me no. But he told me that at least I had grown up knowing who my parents were, what they looked like, and that they loved me."

"I remember mine." Mica looked at her in surprise. "My parents died when I six. Had I told you? Perhaps not. Well, never mind. Would you agree this is as good as a memory?"

"Oh, of course-"

"It will sustain you through what will come. Not now, but when the year wanes."

"Must you be so foreboding?"

Caro frowned. "I am not being foreboding. Merely accurate."

It had started to rain, and Mica could hear the faint pitter-pattering of it on the roof as the room was briefly lit by a lighting bolt streaking across the sky.

"This is actually a good thing, you know, dear," said Hermione to her husband. She was perched in the window seat of their room, wrapped in a soft wool robe. "I can probably find some interesting things here, since Hogwarts does have one of the best libraries for research in the country."

"Darling…" Ron walked over to the window and sat down beside her. " Must you keep researching the Cassadaga Coven? Sooner or later, someone may notice you are, and they may not like it."

"Why must you keep harping on about them? They're not what I'm researching, anyway- I'm studying the Amulet of Houle- the Amulet of Ygraine."

"I just don't want you to get hurt! I don't want our baby to get hurt, either, they're dangerous people, Hermione, you mustn't anger them!"

"Ron." His wife's voice was like steel. "You're one of them, aren't you?"

He flinched. It was a moment before he met her eyes. 

"Yes."

"How long were you going to wait to tell me this?"

"Hermione… it's not… I hate them, Hermione. I never asked to be involved with them. When Father was injured, three years ago, half-stripped of his magic, I took his place in the coven. Yes, you're right- about the Companion, them having a leader, them being organized. But I don't want to be part of it. We're all sworn to secrecy, as well, and I don't know who anyone is. Darling," he said slowly, "Believe me when I say that I never told you because I was ashamed, terribly ashamed that I was even knew those people. I was sworn to take the place in the Coven when I was a very little boy, before I even knew what I was doing. Forgive me."

"Ron, I have nothing to forgive you for except that you kept this from me." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "Consider yourself forgiven, okay? Let there be no more secrets."

He gave her a look like a pleading puppy dog. "None?"

"What more is there?" Hermione asked him warily. 

"You know the leadership lineage that the Amulet is supposed to protect?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, the leadership is inherited. It's a very complex thing, but basically, the leader is always a person born with extra magical powers. Loads of extra magic floating about, not very tidy. They're born about twenty to thirty years apart. The current leader is about twenty-eight, I think."

"What are you trying to say, Ron?"

"Well… I'm an Auror… I notice these things… Honey, you reek of magic. Absolutely _reek_. "

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

A storm had erupted over Hogwarts. It was raining steadily. Occasionally a crack of thunder was heard, a bolt of lightning seen flashing across the sky.

Hermione lay in bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing. She was vaguely aware of Ron holding her hand, of Madame Pomfrey handing her daughter to her, saying, "You have a beautiful baby girl." She was exhausted, and barely conscious, but above all she was delighted, hearing her daughter's heart beat next to her.

Through the haze, she heard Ron say, "Her name is Mica Stella," to Madame Pomfrey, who was writing out the birth certificate. _Mica Stella Weasley. Born May 28, 2002._

She frowned when she heard the door open. Harry and Ginny? No, they'd just left on their honeymoon. Dad and Mum Weasley? But it wasn't them either. A dark-haired woman in a black waterproof over a Muggle outfit of black turtleneck and pants entered the room, her eyes shaded by sunglasses. Surprisingly, Madame Pomfrey let her in without a word. Ron narrowed his eyes.

"Bearer," he said in a harsh voice, "You're not wanted here."

"No," the woman said in an oddly musical voice, like low-pitched bells tinkling. She lifted her glasses, and Hermione noticed her strange, golden-coloured eyes. "But I'm needed here, Third Protector." To Hermione she said, "Hello, I'm Caroline. Could you give me your right hand?"

Wordlessly, she disentangled it from Ron's and extended it to Caroline, who held it for a moment. Suddenly, the haze disappeared. "Thank you," she said, "I appreciate that."

Caroline smiled. "Poppy, could you-?" The nurse quietly left the room.

"You- you- what have you done to her? To Madame Pomfrey?" Ron exclaimed angrily.

"Nothing but that which would make her feel a bit better. Poppy left of her own accord." Hermione looked at Caroline closely. The golden eyes seemed friendly, if a little mistrustful of Ron.

"I'm Hermione Weasley, but I think you know that already. Are you coming about my daughter?"

"Oh, you're a smart one, are you?" Caroline laughed; the bells tinkled again. "Yes, I have come about Mica. She will be the next leader of the Cassadaga Coven, you know. I know that. And I- I wanted to meet you."

"Are we related?"

"Hm?" Caroline gave her a quizzical look, her brow furrowed for a moment. "Oh, you mean the lineage of the Coven? That is only magical."

"Ah."

A flash of lightening lit the dim room for a moment. "I must go," said Caroline, looking at her watch, "But be assured, I will be in touch. If you could, would you send me your research on the Coven via Pensieve? It would be most helpful." She kissed Hermione on the cheek and disappeared.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"So, I just do the one-time setup spell, then tap the wand to my head and concentrate on the memory, or memories?" she asked Ron across the Gryffindor common room. They had taken to giving the Gryffindors homework help in the evening, in return for the sharing of their space. Mica slept quietly in her bassinet at Hermione's feet, while the Pensieve sat on her lap.

"That should be it, yes," replied her husband, before continuing his explanation of how to convincingly fake Divination homework to a rapt audience of third- and fourth-years.

Hermione frowned at the wrinkled parchment she held in her hand. Like many of the older spells, few of which were used in modern times, it was a metered verse, which had to be spoken exactly the right way. She sighed, and then with her wand pointing towards the Pensieve, recited it.

"_Pensive thinker bowl you are_

May Knowledge of the Past you store

_Silver water th-"_

"Mrs. Weasley!" She turned to see young Samantha Wood-Chang holding a parchment out toward her. "I've just been to the Owlery. A letter's come for you."

"Oh?" She unfolded it, an eyebrow raised.

_Dear Hermione and Ron,_

I'm Lowell, Ron's second cousin from Scotland. I'm currently vacationing in London, and I wondered if I could perhaps meet you all? I've heard so much about you from Molly. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, by the way.

_I'll be staying in Godric's Hollow with a friend for a few days next week, and it would be lovely if we could get together for dinner._

_Lowell James_

"Ron? Do you have a cousin named Lowell James?" Hermione asked him. He'd just finished his spiel on Divination.

"Lowell James… Well, Mum's got some cousins in Scotland, name of James, I think," Ron said pensively.

"Well, she's currently in England, just written to say hello. She might be in Godric's Hollow next week. I think we should have her over for dinner."

"Hermione, we can't go back to the village! Is your mind half-addled?"

"It's only for a night, dear… We don't even have to spend the night if you want."

"Oh, very well." Ron sighed and shook his head. "Dinner it is."

She flashed him a smile, then resumed working with the Pensieve.

"_Pensive thinker bowl you are_

May Knowledge of the Past you store

_Silver water the memories flow_

_Let this be the first that's known_

_To that Pensieve, to yonder star!"_

"So, now you have seen what I brought you here to watch," said Caro. "Are you ready to be Bearer now?" She stood up and stretched; it was only then that Mica registered that she was entirely in black. She wore black robes, black shoes, even a collar of jet beads. Mica watched as Caro waved a hand at her. "_Enchangia_ Bearing Dress."

Suddenly, her clothes switched. Mica now wore a long white dress, complete with a gauzy white cape. A great collar of pearls and rubies hung about her neck. "Now?" she squeaked.

"It's best if it's over and done with. It is not an… altogether pleasant experience." Caro waved her hand again, this time silently, and the Viridian Wand appeared on the edge of the table. "The only thing that I will not do now is shift the burden to your shoulders from mine."

Mica looked nervously around the room at the twelve Protectors, and the little Squib slumped in one of the thirteen doorways that lay a few feet behind the pillars.

"All- all right."

Caro snatched a jeweled knife off the table; a knife that Mica could have sworn hadn't been there before. "Give me your right wrist, will you?" Wordlessly, Mica did. 

Then, quickly, she slashed the knife across it, and shoved her bleeding wrist into the golden pool, the Great Pensieve.

Mica felt the golden liquid surge through her veins, felt it spread throughout her body. Words in languages she did not know seemed to hiss into her ears, people and places long dead danced across her eyes. She saw Morgan, a faintly familiar woman with lovely red hair, a young Caro, all streaming through her vision. A laugh trickled through her ears, like Caro's but younger, brighter. Just as quickly as they had come, they slipped away; but she knew the people, the words, the laugh, were all there. She could almost feel the steady beat of her pulse, the ebb of her gold-tinted blood through her veins.

She trembled, feeling dizzy, as she slowly lifted her hand from the pool. There was no blood on her wrist, where the gaping wound had been just a moment before, only a thin scar.

"Protectors, recognize your new Bearer," Caro cried, and the twelve knelt down before her. Even the little boy got down on his knees.

Suddenly, the door behind the vacant pillar opened, and the last Protector was silhouetted against the raging storm. The Protector quickly came in and knelt down along with the rest of them.

"Where did you go, second Protector, to have been gone so long? Fourteen years is a great deal of absence," asked Caro, her voice ringing around the room.

"Fourteen? But I have been gone only two, Be- Past Bearer," said the cloaked Protector.

Mica spoke softly, but her voice rang around the room as Caro's had. "All Protectors except the second, and the young Squib, return to your homes. I bid you goodday, the Meet of the Coven has ended." The thirteen people turned and exited the thirteen doors, which took them home.

The table was on a slightly raised platform, two steps above the rest. Mica stepped down, and the second Protector walked up to meet her.

"Granger?" he said, sounding half-startled, half-terrified. "But you're dead!"

"My mother is," said Mica quietly, "But I am not. How do you know her, and where have you been?"

"We went to school together. I have just come from pr- from Azkaban, if you must know. I didn't have a broom, and couldn't Apparate the whole way, so I spent the night in the Forbidden Forest, next to Hogwarts. I woke up at dusk, and Apparated to the main entrance, and walked all the way down to here. I couldn't find a Doorway to use."

Mica glanced up to Caro, who said simply, "The lands of Faerie are opening up again. He slept for twelve hours; it turned to twelve years. Workings of the heir of Morgan's grandson."

"The Heir of Slytherin!" exclaimed the second Protector. "Voldemort has arisen again?"

"No," said Mica. "Fourteen years have passed. I daresay I know who you are, and you must know who I am. So you know who is the heir of Slytherin now, don't you? It must have worked, the spell. My blood would have been enough. He is out there, free to fulfill the prophecy!" She looked at Caro. "I know what the Amulet is for now." Mica looked back at the Protector. "So tell me, Draco Malfoy, how has prison suited you?"

**COMING SOON: **

_Animal Instinct_ ficlet and _PART III: The Girl With Two Faces_

While you wait, be sure to check out the new story in the Viridian Wand story arc!

_Ginny Weasley and the Tea Room of Doom _takes place in Ginny's fourth year, and she has to investigate some mysterious disappearances… 

This all belongs to J.K. Rowling/Warner Bros., with the exception of Mica, Caroline, the Cassadaga Coven, etc.J

You can email Love at [zer0_gurl@yahoo.com][1] or [zer0_gurl@fanfiction.net][2]; or you can write a review. Love likes feedback, especially reviews. She really likes reviews. She really, really, would like it if you review. Okay?

Thanks: Mom, Dad, BJ, Lunchtable crew, Laurie, Cody, Bob the Amazing Wonder Guitar, & of course my beta-reader, Lissanne.

   [1]: mailto:zer0_gurl@yahoo.com
   [2]: mailto:zer0_gurl@fanfiction.net



	5. Animal Instinct- ficlet

Animal Instinct

Animal Instinct 

June 2020 

"So, you are Bearer now. Ready to commune with the council," Caro said. They were in that vast room again, now vacant but for them.

"Yes." Mica laughed quietly. "You know, I have been able to transform ever since I was little girl. It's not so very different."

Caro frowned. "Mica- no one just _becomes_ an Animagus. For many, it takes years to find all the ingredients necessary for the spell, and even longer to find a source of magic that is large enough that they won't kill themselves by doing the spell. For Bearers, we have always acquired our Animagi shapes by the Great Pensieve's magic. We can only appear at the council in our Animagi forms."

"Caro- I- I didn't- I was so little." Mica sighed. "I almost died."

"What are you talking about?" The older woman flinched as Mica looked toward her. The milky, unearthly blue eyes met her gaze squarely, defiantly. 

"This."

Mica slowly rolled down the collar of the turtleneck she always wore. At the base of her neck, there was a short, jagged scar, a slightly darker pink colour against her skin. Caro gasped.

"Lowell-"

"No, not Lowell. Lowell was- well, wherever she was, she wasn't there. Perhaps she never knew."

As she spoke, Mica slowly, with an odd elegance, transformed. Her wavy light brown hair straightened and grew longer, to her knees, and suddenly turned a pale gold. One lock of the gold hair sported black, tiger-like stripes. The colour of her skin went from a soft pink-white to the lightest pale imaginable, her eyes to coal black. Her nails were of gold, as were all weretigres'.

When she walked to the center of the room, from one of the doorways, which she stood by, she had all of the catlike grace that Morgan had lacked.

"As long as the full moon doesn't touch me, I shall be all right," Mica said.


	6. Part III: The Girl With Two Faces *Chapt...

Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

PART III: THE GIRL WITH TWO FACES Chapter 1 August 31/September 2020 

Draco Malfoy met up with the man on his long walk home in the rain from Flourish and Blott's, his current employer. He'd taken a job there while the lawyers straightened out Lucius Malfoy's will (which they'd been trying to do ever since he'd passed away the previous year) and procured his house and fortune for him. For the time being, however, he had to earn a living, walking home from his job, as he wasn't allowed to Apparate yet. He also had to live with Sirius Black, who ran a sort of halfway house for those just released from Azkaban. It had only been three months before, for Draco.

The man, certainly, of all people, must have been aware how much Draco hated his lot in life. All his friends had grown older, while he was still 28, both physically and mentally. His friends had children only a few years younger than him now. They wanted nothing to do with the radical Draco of twelve years before.

Except for the man. He remained the same, always, the cruel and callous man lurking in the shadows, behind the best-laid plans. It was for his schemes that Draco Malfoy had been imprisoned, and the man never forgot a favour.

"So, Draco, have you gone respectable? Staying with Black, I hear?" he said. The man's tone was light, it always was, but then no one knew better than Draco the kind of malice behind that lightness.

"It's required. You know that," Draco replied, brushing off the first question. That did not escape the man's notice. As always, Draco responded to the silence, the unspoken words that lay between them plain in his mind. "I'm not in with Potter, Marcus. I never was. If you didn't know it then, you know it now. But I can't go back to the League. Whatever you're calling it nowadays."

"And I didn't ask you to," said the man he had called Marcus. "Yet. Of course, dearie, I hardly need you now. You were a fine Dark One in your day, but you were needed to ensure that your father never caught on to the Talisman and used it against us. I know that you won't – you haven't even an idea of what it _does_ – but we still want you. You were very good for the League, in your time. But time in the land of faeries does such strange things to one."

"How did you do it? You hadn't his blood. You had his bone, but you needed the blood. Tell me," said Draco with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had halfway figured it out by now, but he couldn't believe it. Even _Marcus_ wouldn't stoop so low – or would he? 

"Oh, you know how I did it. Don't fool yourself, dearie." Marcus smiled wickedly. "I used the little girl's blood, I did. The girl was a Daughter of Morgan, you know. She'll have a little scar to remember us by."

"I- I-" Draco stuttered, backing away from Marcus, a tall, intimidating man even at the best of times. "You shouldn't have done that! You don't know what they can _do_!"

"Oh, I agree with you. You'd probably know that better, you were a bit more scholarly than me, weren't you?" Marcus shrugged. "It matters little to me."

"Listen, Marcus, she's not like the other Daughter, the one that was searching for her. She's dangerous. And she's in power now."

"Ha! A little trifle. When we unite in the Dark Pact, she will be nothing. You know where to reach me, I presume?"

"Through Charlie?"

"If you change your mind, drop me a line," said Marcus, and with a flick of his wand, he was gone.

Draco continued to walk home, his shoes squelching in the muddy puddles, his feet soaked to the ankles. That day had not been an especially pleasant one for Draco Malfoy, possibly the worst since May 28th, when he had woken up twelve years after he had gone to sleep.

He would have added "paranoia" to the ever-growing list of problems had he sensed the girl following him.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

_Your task_, said the letter, _is unfortunately rather impossible, but I suppose you will do what you can. You're a resourceful girl._

Mica sighed, sat back in her chair at the flat's kitchen table, and continued to read with a growing sense of dread. Caro was always so upbeat about these things.

_Morgan has said that you must do what I cannot; you must rescue Lee, who was the Bearer before me, who was like a mother to me before she died in 1981. No, I don't know who she was, really, save that she had a son; I don't know what happened to him. She's been dead these forty years; I have no idea how you're supposed to save her. That's for you to figure out. You discuss it with Morgan if you get a chance- her dream meetings happen irregularly, once or twice a year. For her, it is once or twice a day, I suppose._

_I know, you must wonder why Morgan has set you such an impossible task. When Lee was killed, trying to protect her son, that was such a terrible act of Dark magic, and on a Bearer, as well, that it swung the balance of Light and Dark magic sharply to the dark magic side. Aurors sense this: they've been extra vigilant since. When Voldemort tried to kill little Harry (your uncle) it only worsened it, especially since he used the Wand._

_Morgan says they are forging a Dark Pact. In normal times, this would have been trouble enough, so heightening the power of Dark magic, but people would have forged Light Pacts (the Order of the Phoenix was one) and lessened the problem. Nowadays, even one Dark Pact would tilt the balance enough to eradicate magic entirely from the world. I don't know who "they" are, but you must find them and stop them. One of them must be Slytherin's Heir, as has been foretold. You've not told me how you knew that May night that the Heir was involved, but I assume you had your reasons._

_Sibyl Trelawney once foretold (this is one of only two real predictions, I might add) that the girl who wore a talisman of Morgan's working would be the only one to halt the fulfillment of Slytherin's deathbed prophecy. You might want to familiarize yourself with the prophecy- it could come in handy. I'm sure Alex has a copy- from what I've seen of him, he's a regular bookworm. Might make sneaking in/out at unusual hours a bit easier, eh?_

_Owl me if you need to- I'm home in Delaware (the States, if you've forgot), but I'm sure your owl can find me. Skywalker seems a hardy fellow._

_Caroline_

She folded up the letter and turned toward the open door to the flat's living room, which now resembled something more like a library. Quietly, she walked over to the open door.

"Alex? Have you got a copy of Slytherin's deathbed prophecy?" Mica asked her bespectacled flatmate, who was surrounded by a pile of books.

"Somewhere, perhaps my copy of _Grumdinkel's_-" Alex said, lifting his head.

"_Grumdinkel's_ will do."

Alexander Wood-Chang went off in search of _Grumdinkel's Encyclopedia of the Wizarding World, 34th Edition_, shaking his head. Mica, in rare moments of introspection, had always quietly wondered how such people as Oliver Wood and Cho Chang (who in the end ended up coaching the Chudley Cannons and teaching Quidditch at Hogwarts, respectively) had produced such a scholarly son. Surprisingly, the two of them got along well enough, mainly because Mica was out more often then not. Both were in their first year of college at the London University of Sorcery.

"Here it is," said Alex, tossing a heavy book onto the kitchen table.

"Thanks. Help yourself to a muffin."

Mica turned to _Prophecies_ section of _Grumdinkel's_, munching her own muffin meditatively. After a few moments of searching, she located what she was looking for.

**Slytherin, Salazar**, _947 AD- 1020 AD_.

_Deathbed_

_I am on my deathbed, and send you my last prophecy of the Future. These events shall befall a millennium after my death…_

_… I have seen the birth of a dark-haired wizard who shall rise up to become as great as I, to bend the forces of evil at his will, though in the distant future. But it has been made clear to me that he shall not be the final Heir. There shall come a brown-haired wizard, born of pure blood, unlike his predecessor, but he will take on mine through an ancient magic. This pureness of wizardry in him will make him greatest of the great Dark Wizards… One thousand years exactly shall pass before he will rise to power. This I, Salazar Slytherin, have foreseen._

"Interesting," said Mica.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"Hello, Mr. Potter, sir," said Gus, the elevator operator. "Fifth floor as usual?"

Harry nodded. "Nice weather out today, eh?" He raised an eyebrow at the smoggy streets he had left behind as the elevator door closed.

"Ah, 'tis only the London gloom." Gus replied optimistically. "You'll get used to it soon enough."

"I've been living in London for thirteen years."

"Oh." The elevator reached the fifth floor. "Well, a good day to you, sir!" The elevator door slid open, and Harry Potter stepped into Unspeakables, Division Five, or as it was more commonly known, Unmentionables. He was in charge of it, so his job consisted mainly of paperwork nowadays, but he still did some fieldwork every now and then.

The first thing he saw was a thatch of red hair, attached to a tailored grey suit.

"George!" Harry exclaimed cheerfully, "You're back from Majorca?"

"Quite so," replied George Weasley. "I suppose Fred is still up in Wales investigating? He said he might be back to work tomorrow."

"This evening, actually. He and Angelina want to see Robbie off to Hogwarts."

George shook his head. "I still can't believe my own nephew is a first year! It seems as though I was one just yesterday."

"I know! Mica's living in her own flat, Lily Elizabeth's a second year, and Ron and Sirius are already eight."

"Sorry I couldn't make the party, by the way. I had to tie up a deal with Zonko's- we're buying them out."

"Oh? Well, the twins loved the stuff you sent over. What was that, the entire Weasley's Wizard Wheezes summer catalogue?"

"Only half!" said George, only partly joking.

"Any word from Fred on official business?" Harry asked as they walked to his office. Fred, having been in the Ministry longer than either of them, was the head of Unspeakables in its entirety.

"Actually, yes. You've got some new people in your division. I've got a new accountant in mine."

"Accountant?"

"No, I don't understand either."

Harry took a seat behind his desk, sipping the latte he had picked up at the Starbucks two buildings down. "So, who has Fred saddled with me now?"

"Colin Creevey. He's your new assistant."

Harry choked.

"_What_?"

"Well…" George twiddled his thumbs nervously, "Finch-Fletchley never really recovered from Cannes. Boyfriend decided he should retire, after the nervous breakdown and all."

"Is there any possible way he could be transferred to someone else's division… or to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, where they can use him as a Quaffle?"

"Everyone else rejected him. Have a heart."

With a sigh, Harry shook his head. "I'm not going to argue with Fred about this… but the moment Creevey bungles up a case, he's gone."

"Can do. The other new one is an Unutterable. Hand picked. Code name Diana."

"Replacing Arnold?"

"Seemingly. You might want to see Sirius about the new Unutterable; she apparently has an inside track on the League case. Something that confirms your suspicions."

"Hmm. Well, I'll head over to his office. If you hear from Fred, tell him that we need to have a meeting re the League. Get all the investigators, including the new one, together."

"Will do." Both men exited the office, George to his other job, the presidency of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Harry to the office of Sirius Black, head of Division Five's Section One, more commonly called Unspeakables Unmentionables Unutterables.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

_Atop Flourish and Blott's, a slender figure sat quietly. Her long, long yellow-gold hair whipped around her, carried by the sharp gusts of the wind that rushed across the rooftops of London. She sat like a tiger, poised to spring._

_The eddies of wind that gushed around her like airy river rapids would have knocked any other person from her perch, but she was like a stone gargoyle, immovable by the windy tides. A bird perched on her shoulder, warily; a second later it flew off as if shot from a cannon. The pigeons on the edge of the roof scooted away from her._

_The quarry she sought emerged from the building and she was off, a flurry of long limbs and golden hair flying across the rooftops, as comfortable on all fours as on legs. She swung from building to building elegantly, effortlessly, and above all silently. He never knew she was watching._

She ran like a whirling dervish until he entered the gloomy high rise. Resuming her gargoyle pose, she let the wind beat against her without hindrance. He must lead her to him; of that much she is sure.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"Hell, no," Draco muttered as he opened the post. Sirius Black, on the opposite side of the room, looked up from his coffee to the black piece of parchment Draco held in his hand. The apartment the two men shared was in a state of not-so-genteel disrepair, and replete with the general chaos of a bachelor's pad. Only Draco's small room was kept in any semblance of order.

"I've already checked through your mail. That one was unremittingly blank, despite several spells I tried on it. What does it say?" the older man inquired. Seeing Draco's scowl, he continued, "I do know several people who could read that letter for me, and the fact that I have not taken it to them – yet – should be a sure sign that I think you will tell me."

"It's from an old associate. I knew him when I was involved with some Dark groups. He's rather persistent." Draco frowned at the envelope. "Don't bother about Marcus-"

Sirius dropped the cup he was holding, and it shattered on the hardwood floor. That there were no dirty clothes below to cushion the fall was a surprise indeed. "_Marcus_?" he asked.

"An old acquaintance, nothing more," replied the younger man, and he tore the letter to pieces and tossed it in the fire.

A small, smoky black circle with a twenty-six-point star hung suspended in the fire for a moment, and then vanished. But neither Sirius Black nor Draco Malfoy noticed it.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Across the city, in a classroom in the London University of Sorcery, Mica tapped her quill irritably against her desk. Professor Philbert was one of the most annoying and dull professors she had, and she paid no more attention in class than was strictly necessary. There were about fifty students seated in the large lecture hall, peacefully dozing through Level I of Magical Objects and Their Uses.

With a concluding sentence, Professor Philbert ended class, and the students released a collective yawn. As she made her way toward the door, she halted in front of the grey-haired Professor, who had the look of a goat– sort of sloe-eyed and skinny.

"I'm Mica Weasley," she said.

"Are you Hermione Granger's daughter?" he asked, not sounding at all dreary anymore.

"Yes," Mica replied, silently wondering how so many people who knew her mother had popped up of late.

"I knew her some. She was one of the most brilliant students I've ever had."

"I've- I've heard." She glanced furtively at the door and wondered how long it would be until she could escape the stuffy classroom. He was obviously not Nine.

"No. You don't understand." The Professor shook his head. "You are brilliant as well. But you do not belong here."

"It's a required class."

"But your credentials- you should be-"

Mica narrowed her eyes. Perhaps… "McGonagall supervised my training, Professor, as did two other well-trained teachers. I am here for a purpose. Trust in that."

"You are incognito?" The professor raised an eyebrow. They both looked around, but saw no one. 

So she replied, "Of course. You should have said code earlier, you know, I shouldn't have been quite so lost. You are Nine, I suppose?"

Professor Philbert nodded. "Those up in Division Five haven't used me for years. Think I'm an inept old fool. But there was no one else to do the job. I, in turn, assume you are…"

"Thirty-seven."

"Good. Just checking. Might I ask why they've sent an Unutterable to do an Unmentionable's job?"

"Because it may not be an Unmentionable's job. Believe me. I know the people involved."

"How would _you_ know the people involved? They said this is your first field assignment."

Mica sighed. "It is. Technically, I shouldn't be on the case, you know. All they have to go on is suspicion and my word. I knew them when I was a child. When I-"

"I heard. What do you think of the League of Warlocks?" asked the Professor.

"They are not who we are looking for."

"Of course they are! It's why Division Five has their eye on them."

She shook her head. "Those we seek are not all warlocks, for one thing. They are using ancient magic, for another."

"What?" the professor scoffed. "No one can use the magic of the ancients, not nowadays. All knowledge has been lost. You are referring to the magic of Egypt, of the Celts?"

"Of course. And I of all people should know that all knowledge has not been lost."

"You are talking in riddles, young lady."

"Fine then," said Mica, "I shall not talk." She eyed a book sitting on the other side of the room.

With an intense sound rather like the crack of a whip, the book flung itself into the opposite wall, where its flight was stopped abruptly, with a curt smack. It fell to the floor.

"You're a _Maiden_? But- you were thought mythical! You shouldn't exist!" Philbert exclaimed.

"Oh, but I do, Professor, I do. I am also the current leader of the Cassadaga Coven."

The professor laughed, however. "That is too absurd for me to believe, even now. You are so young."

At this, Mica frowned at him. "Caro is dying. Or else I would not be taking the helm. For after all, I am not so young. I have heard things that would take the hearing from your ears, seen things that would strike the sight from your eyes. I can prove it to you."

"How?"

"What is most common legend of the Coven?"

"That the blood of its leaders runs gold, but surely that is the most blatant falsehood upon the earth-"

She gave the professor a severe look. "After what I have shown you, you would doubt? They are right, you are a fool." Swiftly she drew a sharp, bejeweled knife from its place at her hip. Mica placed the tip of her right forefinger to the blade, and a bit of molten gold snaked its way down.

"I am sorry. I should have believed you," said Philbert after a moment.

"I do not lie. No matter what I may do, I do not lie."

"Why? You needn't scowl at me, young lady. It can come in handy sometimes."

Mica shook her head. "Playing a part, that is different. But lying is something I cannot abide by. Once… I lived in a web of lies. My mission now is to tear them down."

"So, if they hadn't given you the A-OK at headquarters, you'd have gone off on a vigilante mission?" 

"No. The Coven has to administer justice, anyway."

"If you weren't in charge there?"

"Of course." Mica laughed. "Do you doubt me? There is man behind this, a man who stole my innocence, who would have killed me if he could. Before I let any other person fall dead by his hands, I will get to Marcus Flint."

"Death is too good for the man, eh?" said Professor Philbert.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

On the afternoon of September second, six humans and one elf convened in Division Five's Green Room.

"Attention!" declared Fred Weasley. There was silence around the round table. The table in question happened to be made of oak, and Fred sat at the head of it- er, rather where the big chair was. Around the circle, going clockwise, were Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Diana (the new Unutterable), Colin Creevey, George Weasley, and one Eilas the Elf.

The elf in question was a bit short- barely five feet tall- but none the less intelligent for her lack of height. Eilas also happened to be head of America's Ministry of Magic. She scanned the table with a scintillating eye. No one breathed.

It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that American Ministry of Magic had thoroughly ceased to be considered "rustic" since she had taken command.

Eilas cleared her throat.

Fred continued, "In light of new evidence confirming suspicion about the League of Warlocks, we will be officially investigating it. However, we will be doing so covertly. All of you, save the American Minister of Magic-"

"Eilas," corrected the American Minister of Magic. Fred flinched.

"Save Eilas, all of you will be suspending any pending investigations of your own. Harry, before you ask, the Diablos matter is entirely separate and of course you are free to pursue it." Harry nodded. "Sirius, could you summarize what we know so far?"

"Certainly. The League of Warlocks was started as- er-" Sirius Black coughed.

"A private gentlemen's club," supplied George hastily.

"Yes. However, in recent years it has become more of a militia- but most of the warlocks involved were entirely above suspicion. Except, of course, the League's founder, Marcus Flint. He's been suspected of being involved in few terrorist attacks on the Ministry, but nothing was ever proved. Nearly twenty years ago, he was suspected of being a Death Eater, tried, and acquitted. Such a track record, does, obviously, invite suspicion. However, since so many of members could not possibly be involved, we had to resign ourselves to waiting. Several years ago, we discovered that Marcus Flint had an 'inner circle' but no one was ever able to determine who belonged. There were so many members…" Sirius broke off. He turned to his new employee. "Diana, could you-?"

She nodded, her hair bouncing like rays of golden light about her face. "You were never able to determine them, because the League of Warlocks is entirely innocent."

"_What_?" exclaimed Colin Creevey. He shut up quickly when six people, well, five people and an elf glared at him.

"The League of Purebloods was formed in, oh, 2000?" Diana continued. She shrugged. "Sometime a year or two previous to Voldemort's defeat. They were Dark arts practitioners, it goes without saying. However, Marcus Flint, who headed it, did not want to resurrect Voldemort, as did Abram Malfoy, who split off from the group in 2006. Flint wanted to become Slytherin's Heir."

"So he wanted to become Voldemort?" asked Eilas, raising an eyebrow.

"No, becoming Slytherin's Heir is quite a different thing. Slytherin's prophecy- is anyone here familiar with it?" Diana looked around.

Fred timidly raised a hand. "Um- a thousand years after Slytherin died, his Heir would become the greatest of Dark wizards? But his Heir would be related to him by blood and not bone?"

"Very good, Mr. Weasley." She nodded. "There are several ways to change blood and bone, but only two to change blood."

"Two?" queried Eilas. "I'd never heard of anything at all being blood-related."

"There are two. One," she glanced at Sirius, who had been about to speak, "I cannot speak of. The other is a botched change of blood and bone. His change was the latter."

"So Marcus Flint did succeed in his efforts? How?" asked Harry, his interest apparently piqued.

"Voldemort's bones had been saved, as you know," said Diana, looking at Harry. "But Marcus had none of his blood. So he used the blood of a descendent of Morgan Le Fay, the grandmother of Slytherin. However, that was only enough to transform blood- enough to make him heir- but not to thoroughly change bone, an altogether more difficult task, though they did have Voldemort's bones." She paused. "He is also an heir of Morgan, however. And he has commanded the return of the realms of Faerie. They are re-emerging. Draco Malfoy's encounter with the Forbidden Forest is only one example of what may happen. I have done what I can since learning of this to shut the portals, but Marcus Flint is very strong. Harry Potter, you must help. Ask your wife how, she will know, but you can."

Diana and Harry exchanged a long look.

"Are you a Protector?" asked Fred, to the confusion of Colin and Eilas, but surprisingly not to that of Sirius Black.

"Something of the sort," said the latter enigmatically.

"Might I inquire-?" asked Eilas.

"Later. Ask George."

"Is Marcus Flint involved with the Cassadaga Coven?" inquired George.

"Never," said Diana, shaking her head firmly. "However, we are off topic. Marcus Flint's League of Purebloods faded into the mist, after he had accomplished his task. A very few remained, and those who did were his closest friends. One who might have remained, had he not been taken off to Azkaban for charges he was innocent of, was Draco Malfoy."

"What are you saying! Everyone knows Draco Malfoy used an illegal curse on Cornelius Fudge, and in broad daylight!" said Colin Creevey. He was met with six glares, once more. 

"Marcus Flint used Polyjuice potion. It was a common practice of his. But enough of that. Now, the time until the millennial anniversary of Slytherin's death is short. He desires to forge a Dark Pact. He will need followers. More specifically, the blood of followers. To join the League of Warlocks, it is required you give a drop of blood and sign a binding magical agreement that says that you will not mistreat the- um-"

"Exotic dancers," George said quickly.

"Eilas," continued Diana, "Is here because at least two hundred American Wizards belong to the League of Warlocks. Percy," she added, referring to Percy Weasley, the British Minster of magic, "Cannot attend, but he trusts we will act in his best interest. I believe he's in Paris?"

Fred agreed. "Yes, there's some sort of trade agreement he's working out. So, the logical course of action would be to have someone put a tail on Draco Malfoy, and wait for him to lead us to Marcus Flint."

"It has been done," said Sirius. "However, I think it may be more effective to have an agent work with him to get Flint. Malfoy must hate the man, after all."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," remarked Harry. "He's rotten. Malfoy will turn on us in the end."

"You don't live with him," replied Sirius grimly. "And I think the agent in question should be Diana. She knew him. Also, he hates me enough as it is. God only knows what he would do if he knew I was an Unutterable. Slowly poisoning me is probably high on his to-do list already."

"You knew him?" Harry asked, looking at Diana. She shrugged. "Who _are_ you?"

"Harry-" Sirius protested, but she cut him off.

"My aunt was a poor woman," Diana said quietly. "A Muggle, but many of her family were wizards. She had little money, and me to take care of – my mother had died some years previous – so she took in boarders. Malfoy and Flint boarded with her for a year. My aunt was not often home, and she usually roped Malfoy into watching me. If not, I wandered Diagon Alley at all hours. I saw much."

"Oh."

"Harry, you'll be in charge of gathering background information on Flint. If you find anything or anyone significant, let me know. George, you're going to work with Eilas and see if you can find out anything about the American branch of the League. Sirius, you… do what you do best. And Diana, you're going to be- following him? Approaching him?" Fred said.

"I will see how it goes," said Diana, leaving it at that.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Silently she sat, home, in her room, combing her long hair. It went past her knees, and always got so tangled on the nights out. She loved her hair like this; it was like combing thick spun gold. When she finished, she braided it and pinned it to her head in a tight coil. No tangles tonight.

_"I'm going out!" she called before she stepped out of her window and onto the fire escape. A few more seconds and she was on the roof. Yes, she **was** going out tonight. Dropping in on a friend._

_**Well**, she reminded herself, **he was, once**._

_And after all, he had only brought this on himself, hadn't he?_

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Draco was peacefully reclining on the beat-up couch in the living room, perusing the latest edition of _The Complete Idiot's Guide to Watching the Grass Grow_, when he heard the window at the end of the couch slide open. He was on his feet, with his wand pointing at the intruder, before he realized that she was smiling broadly and clearly unarmed.

"Hullo," said the intruder, who was rather tall and blonde, and was also carrying a bottle of mead, which he noted was of a good vintage. "Is Sirius in?"

"Mr. Black is out at the moment. Do you have his permission to be here?" he demanded, who was feeling rather foolish and attempting to cover it up.

"Of course I do," replied the woman indignantly. "He asked me to bring the '74 over. You must be driving him to drink, cleaning up his apartment. I'm surprised he let you. Are you…?"

"Am I what?" Suddenly Draco understood. "No- no- you misunderstand- we're not- I'm just out of Azkaban and required-"

The woman laughed. "I see." She set the bottle of mead down on a side table, knocking a book about evading Muggles onto the floor. "I'm Diana, by the way."

"Diana-?"

"Just Diana, thanks. Mind if I wait for Sirius?" asked Diana.

"No- that's okay."

"Great." She kicked off her sneakers and hopped onto an aging recliner, which squealed in protest.

Draco winced. "You might want to be a little more careful with the chair." Despite her slenderness, she _was_ tall, and probably rather heavy. The mass of blond hair pinned up on her head was likely part of it.

"It'll hold." She glanced at the chair worriedly, however, belying her confidence. "Usually I sit on the couch. You know, I've heard about you. I'd like to borrow you."

"For what?" Draco asked suspiciously.

She just smiled at him. "Stuff. Marcus. I want to kill him."

"_What_?" he sputtered. "No way! Do you think I _want_ to go back to Azkaban? _No_ way, _no_ deal, _absolutely_ _not_."

"Hey, hey," Diana held up her hands. "I never said I wanted you to kill him! I'm going to do that myself." Her face, suddenly, seemed to slip from its implacable smile. "He's been a bad, bad boy."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~__**

__"Alex!" Mica exclaimed softly, kicking the door closed behind her. Even so, the young man rummaging around under the desk in the flat's living room, looking for a lost paper, probably, still started and hit his head on the bottom of the desk.

"What?" he yelped. She sighed.

"Alex," she repeated. "My brothers are spending the night in here, remember? Their parents are in Hogsmeade for the weekend. How the hell are they supposed to sleep on the couch?"

Both of them looked at the couch, which was actually a rather battered futon. It was also piled high with the musty books Alex had apparently been consulting recently.

Alex smiled guiltily. "I can move them."

"Do. You have until five; if you're not done by then, I'll Banish them to Hogwarts." He snorted. Mica frowned at him. "I'm serious. Do you want to me to prove it to you?"

Alex just laughed. "No one could Banish a book all the way to Hogwarts."

Mica gave him a look that could have killed. The fact it didn't was a strong testament to the quality of her flatmate's spectacles. However, a glass could be heard shattering in the distance.

"Shit," she said, making her way to the kitchen. Mica grabbed a dustpan, found the broom, and cleaned up the sharps of glass winking in the sunlight streaming across the kitchen floor.

Alex followed her, fascinated. "How did you _do_ that?" he asked, his glasses sliding down his nose as he peered at her in wonderment. "An non-wandular manifestation of magic in reaction to high stress? At least, that's what I _think_ it was."

"Please-!" Mica cried. "I've had a very, _very_ bad day. Just get the books off the couch, OK?" Her voice threatened to squeak at the last word, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force back tears. For her, they were a sign of absolute, catastrophic distress. 

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"No," she said, "I'm not." 

The letter was still balled up in her hand, where it had been for the last half-hour, since the owl had dropped it off in the midst of Muggle Chemistry I.

_Mica-_

_I've taken a slight turn for the worse. My doctor says travel may not be advisable in the near future, so I've come to England to stay with Remus's daughter, Dr. Ananda Lupin. You should drop in at the earliest convenience; Ananda isn't sure how long I'll hold on. She has the Wand, so you will have access to it even in the case of my death._

_Please come soon. I have some matters I need to settle, and I am not sure I want to entrust them even to Ananda._

Caroline 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

"So," Harry Potter said to Sirius Black, "Who is she? Really?" The two men sat at a table in the rear of the Three Broomsticks. Ginny and Lily Elizabeth was still shopping in Gladrags; they'd picked up their daughter from Hogwarts for the day, since they were in town.

"Who?" asked Sirius innocently.

"Diana, of course. You know who I'm talking about."

"Well- she's Diana."

Harry frowned. "Yes, but she's something else besides that. Why should it matter to you?"

The other man sighed. "Harry, not even you have jurisdiction in this case, I'm afraid. There are only three people besides me who know Diana's identity- Minister Weasley, Eilas, and Diana herself."

Sirius's godson raised an eyebrow. "It's that high up?"

His godfather nodded. "Yes. I would tell you… but…"

"Is it Caroline?"

"Caroline Newman? No, it's not. She's dying, you know."

"Is she?" Harry said, surprised. He sipped his butterbeer. "I suppose that Mica will have to step in at some point?"

Sirius shrugged.

Just then, Ginny and Lily Elizabeth burst in, loaded down with bags from her shopping expedition. 

"Sorry," the former said, slightly breathless. "I picked up some extra things for the boys in Gladrags." Harry's wife hefted the bags onto the sole extra chair, and took a seat in the one she had dropped her purse on. "Hullo, Sirius."

Everyone greeted each other and the expected order for food was duly placed.

Conversation gradually turned to the Potter twins, Ron and young Sirius. The two had a talent for causing trouble, unequaled by even their uncles Fred and George in their wanton youth. However, it was not long before Lily yawned loudly.

"How's school been, Lily of the Valley?" asked Sirius after a while. To everyone's surprise, the girl shuddered at the familiar old nickname.

"_Don't_!" Lily Elizabeth exclaimed sharply, but then she winced and said softly, "Could you just call me Lily Elizabeth?" 

In the awkward silence that followed, Harry and Ginny both muttered something about how their daughter was going through those terrible teenage years. But all their clever little comments couldn't hide the unease that had swept over the table.

Or Sirius's odd frown, as if he were remembering something.

Or the look of absolute terror in Lily Elizabeth's green eyes.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**__**_The stars were bright out that night. The boys were in bed, asleep. No one would notice her absence. It was odd, how she anticipated this. The first time, it was with a quiet dread; now the thought of losing herself, if just for the night, sent adrenaline rushing through her veins. Was it the absence that she desired, she wondered idly, or the gaining of something new? Not the power. That in itself was nothing, not to her._

_She quietly stepped through the window. This time he did not start in fright._

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

****"Greetings," said Diana, dressed that night in black instead of the previous white. "Have you considered my offer?" She was perched on the windowsill, merrily swinging her legs. Her long golden hair hung loose, blowing about her softly in the cool evening breeze that reached even flats such as these.

Draco sighed. "If it weren't for the sheer illegality of the thing, I would have."

Oddly, she chuckled. "But it's _not_ illegal!" Diana crowed. "I work for the Ministry. They've given the A-OK." She clapped her hands together, like an old crone or a small child do when they are pleased. But, he noted, she did not appear childish, rather a caricature of youth. A caricature, even, of venerable old age. It frightened him, somehow, almost in the same way Marcus did. As he realized later, both Diana and Marcus exuded that same manic, whimsical energy that almost seemed to radiate from their pores.

"They have?" Draco asked, interested in spite of himself.

"Why not?" Diana said with a wicked smile. "I'm the best undercover they've got. It was my asking price. They give me Marcus, I save the world. Simple as that. He would have gotten a kiss from a Dementor anyway." She laughed, and a strange chill seemed to run through him.

"Tell me this. What's in it for me, and why are they after him?"

"You will be cleared of the charges that put you in Azkaban. As for why the Ministry wants Marcus Flint dead, they know about the League of Purebloods."

He blanched. "No."

"Yes. But-," and here she flashed another evil grin, "If you work with me, the Ministry will not bring charges against you. If you don't…" Diana shrugged.

However, Draco Malfoy was not without defense. "I know your secret, you know," he said confidently.

"You do?" For a second, as he had the previous night, he seemed to glimpse a flicker of emotion behind her eerily cheerful façade.

"Yeah. You're a weretigre. Which one of your parents was?" He raised an eyebrow. "And does the Ministry know?"

"Of course," Diana said smoothly, that chance glimpse within gone, as if it had never existed at all. "Both my parents, actually. It's not as terrible as being a werewolf, you know. As long as the light of the full moon doesn't hit me, I'm fine. How did you know?"

He shrugged, deflated. "Your hair, for one thing. Part of it's got stripes. And," he hesitated, "The way you walk. You're very balanced."

"Thank you," Diana replied. "You flatter me. Now, let's get down to business. Have you heard from Marcus lately?"

She extricated a Quick-Quotes Quill from out of thin air, and Draco responded as best he could to the various questions she asked. It wasn't as if the questions were so very interesting, but that the questioner was. Diana was, to him, not the cheery weretigre whose red mouth curved into a smile so often, but the mysterious woman behind the smile, the one whose manic, brilliant energy seemed almost tangible. What infinite darkness, he pondered, could possibly lie on the other side of such a brightly shining light?

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

_"You confounded idiots!" the girl with long, fiery red hair exclaimed irritably. Her emerald eyes looked daggers at the two mischievous black haired boys, one on either side of her, all of them seated at the Gryffindor table. "To misquote dear Hamlet, there's something rotten in Hogwarts! And it's you two!" Her eyes narrowed further, and she looked across the table at two other seventh-years. "Better yet, you four."_

_" And we know you hate misquoting," said the slim, brown-haired boy opposite her._

_"Especially your dear, beloved Shakespeare," added the chubby, mousy boy next to the brown-haired one. _

_"So we must conclude," said the shorter of the two black-haired boys, "That we do reek!"_

_"But," the taller boy said, "we would never smell our disgusting scent over your lovely perfume-"_

_"Lily of the Valley!" the four boys chimed in._

_"Don't!" wailed the redheaded Lily. "You know I hate that nickname."_

_"Of course," said the taller boy, who Lily occasionally called James when not insulting him in foreign languages. He whispered into her ear, "Of course you do, when any flower would pale in comparison to you."_

_Lily blushed._

_"So, when's the wedding?" asked the other black-haired boy._

_"Sirius…" said Lily with a sigh, but by this time, her anger had faded, and she couldn't help but laugh._

_After a moment, three of the four boys joined in._

_"Next year?" James asked quietly into her ear._

_"Okay," she agreed, her voice somewhat louder. Remus, Peter, and Sirius all looked at them curiously._

_This time, only she and James laughed as the other three looked on._

"Oh, no," said Lily Elizabeth Potter, as she awoke from the fourth visitation of the dream that week. "Not _again_."

**COMING SOON**

_Chapter Two_ of _Part III: The Girl With Two Faces_

While you wait, be sure to check out the new story in the Viridian Wand story arc!

_Ginny Weasley and the Tea Room of Doom _takes place in Ginny's fourth year, and she has to investigate some mysterious disappearances… 

This all belongs to J.K. Rowling/Warner Bros., with the exception of Mica, Caroline, the Cassadaga Coven, etc.J

You can email Love at [zer0_gurl@yahoo.com][1] or [zer0_gurl@fanfiction.net][2]; or you can write a review. Or, if you're not already a member, check out the SevenOfQuills Yahoo Group, where you can read and discuss the work of Lissanne, Tabitha Jones, karei, Andie, Plumeria, Kellie, and Love Gordon.

[http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SevenOfQuills/][3]

Thanks: My family, who put up with me, and thus deserve a great deal of respect.Laurie, Bob the Amazing Wonder Guitar, and fellow members of the Mod Squad, especially Lissanne, beta-reader extraordinare.

Last but not least, a final thank you to Mrs. Flewelling, who no longer teaches Algebra I, but will be remembered by all readers of Harry Potter and the Viridian Wand with fond reverence.

   [1]: mailto:zer0_gurl@yahoo.com
   [2]: mailto:zer0_gurl@fanfiction.net
   [3]: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SevenOfQuills/



	7. Part III: The Girl With Two Faces *Chapt...

Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

_This chapter is dedicated to all who lost their lives to terrorism on September 11, 2001._

Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

PART III: THE GIRL WITH TWO FACES 

**Chapter 2**

September 2020 

He checked the address that Charlie had given him- yes, this was it. The Flints' London residence was large and appeared rather luxurious from the outside- apparently the Zabini wealth had provided handsomely for Marcus Flint, a man of bloodlines if not an overflowing Gringotts account.

The one incongruous note was the kid who sat on the steps, smoking, his bleached hair hanging in his eyes, in weathered Muggle garb. Cautiously, Draco Malfoy approached him.

"Is Marcus in?" he enquired. The kid - he couldn't have been more than seventeen - shrugged, exhaling like one who has spent years getting to know the intimacies of a cigarette. He looked up at Draco, his shaggy bangs sliding back to reveal a familiar pair of dark brown eyes. Montague eyes. "Salazar Montague?" 

Draco hadn't seen him, Blaise and Keith's kid, in over fourteen years. Salazar and Emily Montague, those were the twins. Emily was towheaded tomboy who took after their father, while Salazar had looked like their mother, who was pale-skinned and dark-haired. However, little Sal had changed a great deal. The kid coughed, then spoke in a gravelly voice. "Skunk's th' name, you berk. Get wi' th' times." His accent was truly horrid- probably, Draco thought, exaggerated for the effect.

"Sorry," he muttered, "I've been trying to."

Salazar - Skunk - glanced at him again, this time with a look of recognition. "Malfoy? Back from th' dead, I 'eard. Was it fun?"

"What?"

Skunk took another drag on his cigarette, then blew smoke at the ground. "Was it fun? Death. Oh, never mind. You want th' stepdad, 'e's in 'is office. Ask one o' th' butlers to 'elp you. I gotta go." With that, he got up and walked off, leaving Draco Malfoy stricken and speechless, staring at a figure that had just one-upped most of his nightmares.

Blaise Zabini was a striking witch who was always laughing, a born socialite, while Keith Montague was a daring playboy, the Wimborne Wasps' favorite Chaser. They had a long courtship, but just a year after they married in 2003, their twins were born. Tragically, Keith had been killed in a senseless Quidditch accident before their first birthday. His widow, while still breathing, was in all respects dead as well. Draco had seen her last a few days before his departure to Azkaban- the announcement of her engagement to Marcus Flint had just been made. Marcus looked like a smug, satisfied cat. Blaise just looked blank.

Now, Draco recollected, Blaise had another two children, the eldest thirteen, the younger one twelve. He wondered if she had ever really recovered from Keith's death.

He found out when he rung the doorbell.

Blaise Flint had not aged well. Not so much that her face was lined- but that the absence of lines where they should have been was so prominent. Her black eyebrows had been plucked to the point where they barely hovered on the edge of existence. She was thin- but too thin, almost gaunt. Her once full mouth was also thin, and harsh, while her eyes shone dully, as if she did not really see him. The only thing left of her beauty was her cascade of black hair.

"Draco," she said slowly, "Have you come to see Marcus?" Even her once-lovely voice was gone from her- now it was strained and low.

"Yes," he replied, nodding, though his mind was reeling, thinking how horrible it was, how bizarre. She seemed little more than a walking corpse.

"He'll be down in a minute, but please don't keep him too long. We have a party to attend at eight- you remember the Warringtons? Of course you do," she said to herself, "I'm so silly. Have you seen my Bijoux and Pierre?"

"I don't believe I have." Draco assumed she was referring to some sort of pet- Kneazles, perhaps? But Bijoux and Pierre turned out to be her two younger children. The portrait that hung in the hallway captured their personalities remarkably well. Bijoux, the thirteen-year-old, looked slightly like her mother but had her father's smug, unpleasant smile. Pierre appeared complacently anal, rather like the Warringtons; rotund Frederick, plump Forsythia, and their stout son, Firel.

"Bijoux is at the top of every class," Blaise said drearily.

He made the appropriate comments as his former classmate rattled off her two youngest children's accomplishments, but neither of them really cared. Draco cut her off in the middle of a long discourse on Pierre's exceptional talent with Bludgers.

"How are Salazar and Emily?" he asked.

She blinked, swayed, and unconsciously put out a hand to the hallway's staircase to steady herself. Her hair brushed the smooth cherry wood of the balustrade. "Salazar has dropped out of school. Emily has been disinherited. She was a Hufflepuff."

"I'm sorry."

Blaise did not say anything; Marcus came down the stairs just then. However, he could have sworn that, if only for a second, her eyes had looked directly into his for the first time.

They were wide, dark blue, and full of some desperate emotion. But Draco never found out what it was, or what she had meant to say.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Mica stood in the foyer of the house, utterly still. Stillness had become a habit with her, over the years, as silence once had been. It was a way of being in control. Over herself, if nothing else.

A board creaked around the corner, and Ananda Lupin emerged from the hallway, stepping into the lavishly decorated foyer. Perhaps, if Mica hadn't been so fraught – well, fraught was too strong a word for her – with worry about Caro, she would have appreciated it more. It was furnished in a Chinese style, the small hall table black with lacquer, the room otherwise done in shades of crimson and gold.

Crimson and gold. It came to her in flash. The Pensieve seemed to speak into her mind, and she saw Morgan's screaming, her greatest fears.

_Caro will die here._

"She's awake," said Ananda sharply, appearing oblivious to Mica's thoughts.

"Oh, good," Mica replied somewhat absently, and she followed the elder woman to the room where Caro now was, up several flights of wooden stairs.

Ananda Lupin was twenty-nine, and a mystery to most who knew her. She was a doctor, yes, a good one, but there was always a hint of something otherworldly to her. Her mother had died shortly before her daughter's fifth birthday, leaving Ananda to be raised by her werewolf father; little else was known about her. Remus had raised her to "be herself" as he often said, but there was distance between the two of them that was never adequately explained. Possibly because of the fact that he and Ananda's mother had divorced shortly after her birth, and he and his daughter had rarely seen each other until her death.

Mica herself kept distance from people, but her distances were so far from Ananda's icy aloofness as to be entirely dissimilar. She did not much like Ananda, but she felt Caro was in good hands.

However, she hesitated before she followed Ananda into the oak-paneled room.

Caro smiled up at her from the bed – such a lovely, large bed, oh, an ebony four-poster, and Caro so small in it, its friendly largeness eating her up. The bedspread was of splendidly embroidered ivory silk, and she almost faded into it, had it not been for her dark hair and golden eyes.

Ananda left them.

"So," said Mica, trying to be brave, but she knew she was all alone now, there was really nothing between her and that terrible vastness of evil out there, except she herself.

"My daughter is in Berkeley," Caro commented out of the blue, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Your daughter?" She took a seat in a chair upholstered in rich, flowered yellow silk. Of course, Mica knew quite well that Caro had been married, it was quite feasible that some little Caro was underfoot somewhere… but it seemed utterly incongruous to her, for some reason. For Caro was such a solitary person.

"I do have one," the Past Bearer continued, "Her name is Lee Yoh, and I have not seen her in twenty-five years. The last I knew she was with her aunt Sandra in Berkeley, but that was in 1995. I don't want you to find her, I've hired people to do that, once I'm gone. I just thought you should know."

"Why don't you have her?" Mica asked.

"I… She never knew me, hardly. Her father was dead, and I went mad. I couldn't drag her down with me." Caro shook her head. "I loved her."

"Enough to leave her there?"

"Mica, madness is not a good place for young children. I let myself go for years."

"You were sane enough to rescue me," scoffed Mica.

"No. I was crazy even then. Perhaps I am still. I have emerged from exile to give you a task, Mica. It was not something I would have done had Morgan not _asked_ me to do it!" Caro fairly shouted the last part. When she was finished, she collapsed back into the enveloping embrace of the bed.

"Don't _worry_ about me," Mica insisted, standing up from her chair. "I can do what Morgan has asked. You're done. Don't dwell on it."

The Past Bearer sighed, a sigh that made Mica wince. "Oh, I agree with you. I am done. Death is only a release for me, now that I have failed."

"Caro! You've never!"

"Yes, I have," Caro said quietly, but firmly. "I have lost two Lees, my daughter and the Bearer before me. Through conceit I lost a chance to kill Voldemort. I was always arrogant, I always believed that I could never lose, and so I failed. Take the Wand with you, Mica." She reached for a wooden box, which fell open at her touch, yielding the familiar emerald with ease. Caro would have pressed it into Mica's hand- but Mica was quicker.

"No!" she screamed, and she fled from the house.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Ginny Potter's fingers trembled as she unwrapped the cards. She was in a dark corner of the attic, hunched over her old Hogwarts trunk, which was black with age and twice as dusty. Once, she had sworn to herself that she would forget- she would leave behind the year of the cards, the year that had changed her and made her the Diviner she was. Even as she became a Realm Watcher, she had denied to herself the cards, if not entirely the Diving Arts, but when the Seeing had come upon her that afternoon, she was forced to return to them.

The trunk was still lined with fading red velvet, faded more now that in the Hogwarts days. She had shut and locked it, as Ginny Weasley, for the final time on the last day of her fifth year, using Percy's old trunk for her last two years at school. But it seemed as if nothing had changed in the trunk in the twenty-four years it had remained in the shadows.

Those trembling fingers set down the cards next to her, then returned to the trunk once more. The book, its pages crumbling a little, was there. There were her old, ragged, paisley robes, a few tattered schoolbooks, and the white sandals with the silken ties. The requisite school robes, outgrown by the start of her sixth year, sat in neat pile in one corner, and Ginny remembered the crystal globe that was cushioned in their folds.

But in the end, she only removed the cards and the white sandals. In the pale, dusty half-light from an attic window, she slipped them on- they still fit. As she laced them around her ankles, she thought idly of how his hands had felt, tying them the first time, brushing her ankles softly. When she had taken them off, at the end of the ball, she had locked them in the trunk, never to be worn again.

In the end, she locked the sandals back in the box once more. Harry she loved now, Harry she had loved long before she knew it. But she had loved him once, also, something quite separate of her destiny, different from Harry entirely, and she had locked them away in the box as well. She had locked them away, as she had her youth, so they could forever dance in the dusky room that is memory, uninterrupted. The cards were hers, but the shoes were theirs.

She smiled as she turned the key in the lock again, but it was a sad sort of smile, the kind of smile that is a bittersweet memory of some long-forgotten time. 

Ginny Potter picked up the cards, and fled the attic.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

_The rooftops again. But she knew now that she could run and run and she would still find herself. She could no longer get lost with the wind._

_The pain got worse as she ran. It had started out in her chest but quickly spread to her legs, her head, and her arms. But she couldn't stop running, not now. Running was not losing herself but it was postponing the moment when she would have to think – it was so much harder to think when she was running with the winds at her back. Thinking was death, she told herself._

_When the moment came when she was too tired to breathe, she collapsed and a wild, anguished cry tore itself from her throat. She lay there, and she cried, her eyes sticky with tears._

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

When Draco left the house, it was past dark, and he was tired. Marcus had accepted him, it was true, but then there was the tedious process of summoning the League and giving them the news. At least he hadn't wanted the Talisman; then again, Draco reflected, it would probably do the man more harm than good.

Idly, he fingered the Talisman, which hung outside his robes for once. His mother had given it to him when he was still a child- "to protect you," she had said. It had not done its job admirably, though, and Draco thought it unusual that such a clever man as Marcus could consider it dangerous. But Marcus was peculiarly superstitious; he had even ensured the Dark Pact would be formed on the day of Slytherin's death, as if the old fool's prophecy could have meant anything. He had known Diviners, Draco had, well, he'd known one, but in that time he had known one he'd learned that prophecies were often misinterpreted. Or pure fallacy.

At the end of the street, he met Skunk again.

"Oy, Malfoy!" said that person, tossing the hair out of his eyes. "So, you're in wi' th' Purebloods, now are you?"

Draco nodded. "It's for the greater good, right?" He said, sounding more confident than he felt.

Skunk flashed him a toothy grin. "You keep thinkin' that, Malfoy, you do." He coughed; it seemed as if those cigarettes were getting to him. "Th' stepdad's been wantin' me to join 'im, 'e 'as, but I 'ad none o' it."

"Why?"

"Oh, Mum said she'd be flayin' me alive if I did, and Em said she'd set fire to m' dead body," Skunk declared jovially. "The usual."

"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

But Skunk Montague seemed disinclined to say any more, and he left Draco at the end of Peachtree Terrace Road. The latter stood there in the dim glow of the lamplight before a car drove by, narrowly missing him, and, startled, he continued back to the flat.

It was at the flat that he was met by Diana, who was perched on the stairs that led up to it. She looked awful- almost as if she had fallen asleep in the rain that had pattered on the ceiling of Marcus's office all afternoon. Her long hair was wet, messy, and tangled; a sooty blotch marred her left cheek.

"What _happened_ to you?" The words burst from his lips. "Did you get run down by a motor lorry?"

She laughed, a shrill laugh that made his ears hurt. "No. No, I don't believe I did." With a gesture to her ankle, which had been wrapped in what apparently a makeshift bandage, she continued, "I was out running and I sprained my ankle. Since I was only a block away, I decided I'd wait for Sirius to show up. He's not half-bad as a medi-wizard."

"Why didn't you Apparate home?" he asked her.

Diana seemed to hesitate before she spoke. "Truthfully, I can't."

"Flunked your tests?"

"No…" she shook her head, "I just _can't_."

"Because you're a weretigre?"

She shrugged. Draco gave up on trying to get answers out of her- an impossible task when she didn't want to give them, it seemed- and unlocked the door to the flat. She limped in with a grateful smile, then settled herself, to his irritation, on the couch. 

"I'll just ring Sirius, shall I?" he inquired. Diana gave no answer but a half-hearted nod, and he realized that she was more tired that she had appeared in the moonlight. So he lit a fire in the hearth, and set about Firetalking with Sirius.

Before half a minute had passed, Sirius's head appeared in the fire against the familiar background of his office, which was presumably in some remote location. Draco had never exactly asked what Sirius did for a living- somehow, he didn't quite relish finding out the elder man's occupation. However, it didn't seem to inhibit Sirius's frequent Talks both at home and at work.

"We've a surprise visitor," Draco said, "Your friend Diana's shown up and she's sprained her ankle."

Sirius frowned. "Tell her I'll only be a minute."

"She said she couldn't Apparate, or I'd have sent her-"

"Ah," Sirius interrupted, and his furrowed brow smoothed out. "I'd forgotten about that. Get her a cup of tea, will you?"

"Very well."

The fire flickered and Sirius's face disappeared. Draco straightened up from the fireplace to find Diana's gaze on him, the flames eerily reflected in her coal-black eyes. The expression on her face was inscrutable in the firelight, but it was not her usual smile. She looked exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and he felt a wave of sympathy for her, despite the fact he knew her so little, for she seemed so lonesome and lost.

"He'll be coming soon?" she murmured, her voice as well redolent with weariness.

"Yes," said Draco, but she had already fallen asleep.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

She managed, somehow, to attend the rest of her classes that week. Mica was sick with grief, but she pushed it away, knowing quite well the kind of backlash she would get when it all hit her. She was tired, too; but it was the kind of fatigue that comes with holding in emotions, and she could do little about it. Some days her very bones ached, and even her magic could not help.

On Friday night, she crashed. Mica lay down on her couch and simply could not muster the strength to get up. At all.

It was fortunate that her aunt came by.

Alex let Ginny Potter in, and the latter made a beeline for the prone figure on the couch.

"Dear," Ginny said softly, "Give me your hand, so I can mend it."

Mica didn't protest; she moved her hand a few inches to rest under her aunt's warm fingers. Suddenly, warmth shot through her, and the gold hummed in her blood.

"Mica? Do you hear me?"

She opened her eyes slowly. "Yes…" she said faintly. "What did you…?"

"It's a charm; you'll feel better in the morning. When you wake. It won't make you go to sleep, though; you'll have to do that yourself," her aunt said.

Mica was silent for a long moment; then she spoke, halting at first, and then faster and faster. "You- you knew- didn't you? She must have told you- something. You were Protectors, after all. I saw her… last week. She is like the face of death itself."

"I have seen death," Ginny replied calmly, "I have seen it too many times. I saw Dumbledore go peacefully; I have seen Harry die in my dreams. I know how his end will come. And I saw a girl die, when I was young. She died of magic poisoning."

"You See, don't you." It wasn't a question. Mica looked at her aunt warily; could she- did she know? Had she Seen it within her?

"I do, yes; I went away from it for a long time, though. Seeing is pain. It gives hope, yes, but it also destroys. I would not wish it on you. It does not make love easy."

"Love is never easy."

At this, Ginny stood up abruptly from Mica's side. "Oh, Mica! If you knew- what I know…" She paced around the living room, tense. "I have Seen things around you, since you were a child. So I tried to keep myself from Seeing, for your sake. For many years, I did. I thought they were lies, when I was young. I did not want to know the truth."

"Will I die?" she asked, nonchalantly.

"Death! Do you really think She would await you now?" Her aunt laughed, and Mica knew that something greater than Ginny spoke through her. "Death is a winged Lady, have you seen her black lips? You are meant to be Princess. The four signs of the night live on – and the gold-eyed is the Empress. Too young, with Old wisdom. The flame child will be the Queen. But Lady Death, she never changes. She is both beginning and end. When the circle is complete…"

"The circle?" she prodded.

"When the circle is complete, the Prince is reborn."

Ginny was silent.

"A prophecy," said Alex, who had been hovering in the doorway. "Cool. I've got it all down on paper."

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

She had lain out the cards the night before, and true enough, they hadn't lied to her. The High Priestess, The Moon, The Empress, and… Death. Though the Empress in her mind wasn't the Empress card at all.

There had been four other cards. Herself - the Queen of Wands - and the Wheel of Fortune.

The eeriness of the reading had not struck her until the cards were away. For seven out of eight cards to be Major Arcana… it was Fated.

Ginny brought her mind back to the last two cards, the Hanged Man and the Fool. The Prince and the Prince reborn? She would know soon enough.

In thirty minutes, she was ready. The twins were at school. Harry was at work. No guests were scheduled to arrive anytime that day. So she cleared off the dining room table once more, readying it for the cards.

"Tell me," she murmured, "of the Prince."

She used the Celtic Cross spread she had learned first, when she was still a girl, when she had learned of her Sight.

The first card, herself. Ginny smiled wryly with amusement when it turned up the Queen of Wands, as always.

The second, the aura around her. She was surprised to see the High Priestess, intuition, once more. Could that mean… Could it be? But Ginny brushed the thoughts away. It wouldn't do to be biased, she reproached herself. No, it really wouldn't do at all.

The third, why she had asked. Death smiled up at her, his white bones gleaming and his skeletal grin wide. Change, she remembered. The cards' knowledge had never left her.

The fourth, the past. The Lovers. She didn't need to interpret that one, no, not at all. Ginny bit her lip, biting back the cry of... what? Surprise? Recognition? Perhaps. For the cards still knew her fears. They knew what she had Seen for Mica.

The fifth, the possible future. The Five of Cups – an emotional loss. Devastation.

The sixth, the definite future. The Ten of Swords: the end of a cycle, which she already knew. But what cycle? Would it be the four aspects of the Goddess, or the end of Caro's life? Perhaps something else altogether, she thought. 

The seventh, her fears. Not the Lovers, this time. The Hanged Man hung, content. Ginny smiled again, a grim smile this time. Oh, yes, she feared knowing. Why had she been gone from the cards all this time? For she had known of the Prince eons ago, she reminded herself. Before she knew of the cycle. Though she had seen the Princess.

The eighth, what others thought. What others? she wondered idly. But there was a card; the Eight of Swords. Someone trapped in a prison they had locked their own self into; someone trapped by fear.

The nineth, what she would have to brave to reach the tenth. The Nine of Swords. Some times truth was hard to see. Especially when it featured nightmares, terror, and depression.

The tenth card, the final answer to her question. It was the King of Cups.

Ginny said nothing, but she dug her nails into her palms until they began to bleed.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

_In the week of the waxing moon, the stripes in her hair were darker._

_In the week of the waxing moon, she grew hungry at the smell of blood_

_In the week of the waxing moon, she was not beautiful. She was ravenous, ready to ravage the world. She was impatient, drenched in desire._

_In the week of the waxing moon, she was waiting._

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

After a long and extremely agonizing day at work, Draco went home and curled up before the fire with a snack and a battered copy of _The Long Dark Tea Time Of The Soul_, one of his favourite books. He hoped Sirius wouldn't mind the loss of his secret chocolate stash too much.

He was not surprised to hear the familiar sound of the window at the end of the couch sliding open. Well, not much.

She looked marginally better than when he had last seen her- fully recovered in most respects, slightly worse in others. He remembered that it was just before the full moon, so perhaps that might have attributed to her current appearance. She looked rather gaunt and hungry- sort of, Draco reflected, like his teacher Lupin had around that time of the month. Lupin had been – was – a werewolf.

"Hello," Diana said, scooting his legs off the couch with one stiletto-clad foot, then sitting next to him. "So, do you have any news for me?" she asked.

He shrugged. "What sort of information?"

"Don't play games," she chided him laughingly, "You know. Who, what, where, when. I'm verrry interested."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "In what?"

"In information, obviously." She wagged a finger at him. "Don't be _silly_. Now tell me."

"Well," he drawled, "There are twenty-six of us. People you'd be interested in are Marcus, Blaise Zabini Montague Flint, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle-"

"A Goyle?" Diana whispered, her face carefully blank. "Not a Goyle, surely not…"

"What aren't you telling me?" he demanded, being rather sick and tired of her evasive conversation, her tendency to worry over odd details without explanation. "You're hiding something from me. If you didn't happen to react to strange things all of the time I wouldn't bother asking you, you know. The Ministry's in shambles if a half-assed agent like you is all they've got."

"No!" She was remarkably childish in her explosive nature. "They have better-"

"Then why are you here?"

"Because," Diana said, sounding deflated, "I was part of the League."

"_What!_" Draco exclaimed, leaping up to look down at the weretigre still seated on the couch. She leaned her head back to rest on the edge of the couch, her eyes half-closed.

"I can't, oh, never _mind_… just… meet me on the roof tomorrow evening."

And she left.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Groans erupted all over the classroom as Professor Philbert passed back their essays. One student, a young man with shocking green hair who was seated next to Mica, actually passed out when he looked at his grade. Mica didn't notice his sudden collapse, nor the 100% on her own paper. She was more preoccupied with her professor's neat note in red ink on the final page.

_Contact with M. F. has been confirmed. Some information has been extricated. More will be coming soon. Code in post class._

Her feelings at reading Nine's note were admittedly mixed. Had it really taken them this long to process it? Or perhaps… but the troubles of bureaucracy she pushed from her mind. She could breathe, now. Cogs in the wheel were turning.

A few minutes later Philbert dismissed the class, and she haphazardly stuffed her materials and papers into her rucksack. The other students pushed past her to the exits as she stood up, and she tripped, falling hard against the edge of one of the seats in the large lecture hall. Her foot slipped out from beneath her and she landed on the floor.

"Need a hand?" a voice above Mica asked, and she nodded dumbly in reply. A large, omniscient hand descended and pulled her up. She bit her lip when she saw whom she stood nose to nose with.

"Tom? Tom Parkinson?" Mica hadn't seen the Slytherin since June. Wavering a little on the slippery shoes that had already once betrayed her, she leaned heavily against one of the seats.

"Oh," Tom said, his voice slightly colder, "It's the Weasel. Too good for the rest of us, eh? We didn't need _your_ kind fouling up our school."

"Nor I yours," she snapped at him. "All I asked was that you leave me alone. Was that a problem for you?"

"Apparently so." He scowled at her. "Watch your back, Weasel," he muttered before moving on.

She narrowed her eyes at his slowly receding back, but said nothing. After the students had all dispersed, grumbling and irritable, she approached the professor.

"Professor, I can't understand how horribly I did on the essay," she said, adopting a petulant tone. "Are you sure we've been covering all that material in class? There's nothing new?" She twisted her fingers together in mock anxiety. "I'm sure there's something I must have missed."

"We didn't cover the Phoenician Star in class, Ms. Weasley, but it was a reading assignment on page nine."

"Oh! I thought we were supposed to read page thirty-seven."

Philbert sighed. "I'll see if I can give you a make-up assignment. Come into my office."

As soon as they had entered the professor's somewhat Spartan home-away-from-home, the professor sealed the door with sixteen different rapidly issued charms. He then dropped into the well-cushioned chair behind his desk, and, almost as an afterthought, moved a stack of parchments several feet high slightly to the left so that he could see her.

"To make short work of things," he said, "The League of Purebloods has been located and confirmed to exist. For some reason, the agent who made contact had to cut off a meeting in the midst of receiving the information, but we have confirmed five members of the League, one of whom is a mole."

"Good," Mica replied, and then she was silent.

"Good…?" prompted Philbert.

"I am a consultant to the case, Nine. I suggest that you remember that." She sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. "The names…"

"Crabbe, Goyle, Flint, Zabini Montague Flint."

"And Malfoy."

"Yes, and Malfoy."

Mica stood up, and slung her rucksack over her shoulder. "Well, that wraps things up for the moment. Just… Blaise Flint, don't go hard on her. She's got troubles far beyond the ones we're attending to at the moment. If I know those at headquarters, they've got a tail on everyone. Tell them to keep her safe."

"Why?" She gave the professor a stony glance from where she stood by the door. "No, I want to know, Thirty-seven."

"Because I knew her once, Nine. Because whatever Blaise does, it can be no worse than what's been done to her." Softly, she shut the door behind her.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Ginny sat in the window seat in their bedroom, looking out over the houses around them, over the garden she and Lily Elizabeth had planted two years before. It was late, and the only light came from the nearly full moon in the sky. She sat silently in the dim stillness of twilight.

It had been a singular week, the sort of week that is riddled with strange moments that mean a great deal to oneself and a very little to others. The cards had laughed at her for asking them so many questions, but still they told the same truth. _Oh, Mica, do you know? _she wondered. _Would you want to?_

To be truthful, it was not that the future her niece did know was very pleasant. Caro would be lost, of course. But then again, Caro had been lost for a very long time, and not many people were aware of it. Perhaps she ought to bring out the crystal ball…

Her husband opened the door. She turned her head to smile up at him, for after both of their days even smiles meant a great deal. The work of an Unmentionable was quite as grueling as that of a Realm Watcher. Harry came and sat beside her.

"The twins are asleep," he said quietly. Ginny smiled again. 

"Finally?" she asked.

"Yes."

"It's been a long week," she murmured, twining her arms around his neck. "The cards have been remarkably enigmatic."

"The cards?"

"Never mind the cards, Harry."

They sat there in the window seat for a while, looking at the sky, before she leaned up to kiss him and he drew the curtains.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

_This would be the last time, she swore to herself, the very last time. It would all be over quick._

_She put on a dress, a black dress that came only to mid-calf at the moment, but it would fit when she changed. That's all she asked. As for shoes… she'd Transfigure them or something. No matter. **Time is a-wasting** the clock sang…_

So she yanked up the black boots, they'd be warm enough. She tied a scarf around her neck. Green for luck, she told herself. Don't think about the past.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

He was up on the roof at thirty minutes to sunset. He knew she'd have to be there before sunset- she couldn't Apparate, the only way to get there was to run as a weretigre.

Draco wasn't stupid. He'd been quite a good student at Hogwarts, despite the fact that Hermione Granger had nabbed top places in all of their classes. So he well knew that weretigres were quite extinct, though he hadn't remembered it until a few days ago, when he was perusing an article about extinct magical animals in the Daily Prophet. However, it was quite possible, and most likely, that Diana was an animagus.

He laughed quietly to himself, thinking of her _nom de guerre_. It was so simple; how could he have missed it? Diana, the virgin huntress, the Roman goddess of the moon. Whoever she was, she had quite a knack for satire.

After barely five minutes, Draco saw her, leisurely leaping from rooftop to rooftop. She was before him, slightly flushed and bewildered, in a matter of seconds.

"I should have known you would find me out," said she, her long blonde hair whipping about her face in the wind. She was dressed in black.

"Who are you?" Draco asked.

"Forgive me," was the only response he got. She half-turned to look at the mass of rooftops that was London behind her. Her hair glowed in the fading sunlight. For a moment.

Then it was wavy, loose, shoulder length, and suddenly, she who had been perhaps an inch taller that he was became near four inches shorter. She looked up at him.

"Granger?" he said, the second time now, though he knew it was the wrong answer. Her eyes glanced over to London again, but now she wasn't beautiful and elegant like Diana had been. Her black dressed enveloped her in billowing, robe-like folds. Draco said nothing more. He knew.

"It's Mica," she told him solemnly. "I can't forgive _you_, you know."

"For what?" he asked.

"You let him do it."

"I couldn't-" Draco started to say, numbly, but she wouldn't let him finish.

"Of course you could have!" Mica shouted. "The scar is no matter. I was in the middle of a magical working. I had no shields. It made me an Animagus-"

"And you can't Apparate," he finished. How foolish he felt. Of course she despised him, for letting her suffer one of the things all wizards feared: magic poisoning, which was quite similar to Muggle radiation. Some wizards died. Mica had been very lucky, he thought.

"I hate you," she said. "Maybe when I'm done with Marcus, I'll kill you, too."

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, not liking the look in her blue eyes. "If I had been there, I would have stopped him!"

"You weren't there?" Mica asked, a strange note in her voice.

"No. How could I have been? I was arrested! I would never have let-"

Her voice was curiously flat. "He lied." She sat down heavily on the edge of the roof. "He lied." Mica buried her face in her hands.

"Listen," Draco said, feel somewhat at loss at to what had just happened, "I'll help you kill him. It's really not a problem."

She didn't say anything.

"Truly."

Brushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes, she looked up at him. "He lied to me. He told me that you were out there, watching us, and you wouldn't stop him. He told me-"

"I'm sorry." He held out a hand to the little girl he had befriended so many years before. "Would you like some tea?"

"Tea would be nice," she said, her voice wavering a little. "I haven't had tea with a fellow Slytherin in a while."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

_Sirius and Remus, the silly boys, had thrown a party for James's birthday. It was heartwarming to know that even in times such as these, they still remembered such things. Lily reminded herself to pick up a present for Sirius on the next Hogsmeade visit. His birthday was only a few weeks away._

_As she walked back to the Gryffindor common room with James, she realized she'd left something in the vacant classroom where they'd held the party._

_"I've got to go back, James. I forgot my purse," she said. James nodded._

_"Should I wait up for you?" he asked._

"Don't- it's late," Lily replied. She gave him a good night kiss before returning the way she had come, through Hogwarts's dark hallways.

_Suddenly, someone – or something – leapt on her. She was terrified, but she remembered enough of her training to send it flying backwards with a half-thought banishing charm._

_Lily ran back to the common room, not looking behind her._

Another dream. But this time Lily Elizabeth was going to fight back. It was very late that night when she crept into the library. So late that Madam Pince was off duty. But that did not deter Harry Potter's eldest child. She was on a mission.

Her dreams, the strange occurrences, the occasionally experiences of déjà vu had mounted up over the summer and now that school had started. Not that she was frightened. Lily Elizabeth was quite proud of the fact that she was frightened of very little.

It took her only a few moments to find the book she was looking for. _Possession, Fixation, and Other Screams In The Night_ wasn't even in the restricted section, mainly because it didn't contain any harmful spells or gruesome descriptions. However, when coupled with her book on Voodoo she'd picked up in the back of Flourish and Blotts that summer, it made for interesting reading.

She stealthily crept back up to her dorm room to look them over. Someone was trying to fix her with a spell, to make her do what he wished. This Lily nonsense was truly getting unbearable. Lily Elizabeth wouldn't let herself think of other options.

Perhaps, though, she might have, had not someone who was only a dark shadow to her seized her from behind.

"_Silencio_," muttered the shadow.

Unlike Lily, Lily Elizabeth could not fight back.

**COMING SOON**

_Chapter Three_ of _Part III: The Girl With Two Faces_

I'm sorry this chapter's so short, but the next one will be longer; I'm also working on another new (short) story called_ Don't Call Me Angel_; check it out!

This all belongs to J.K. Rowling/Warner Bros., with the exception of Mica, Caroline, the Cassadaga Coven, etc.J

You can email Love at [zer0_gurl@yahoo.com][1] or [zer0_gurl@fanfiction.net][2]; or you can write a review. Or, if you're not already a member, check out the SevenOfQuills Yahoo Group, where you can read and discuss the work of Lissanne, Tabitha Jones, karei, Andie, Plumeria, Kellie, and Love Gordon.

[http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SevenOfQuills/][3]

Thanks: My family, who put up with me, and thus deserve a great deal of respect.Laurie, Bob the Amazing Wonder Guitar, and fellow members of the Mod Squad, especially Lissanne, beta-reader extraordinare.

   [1]: mailto:zer0_gurl@yahoo.com
   [2]: mailto:zer0_gurl@fanfiction.net
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	8. Part III: The Girl With Two Faces *Chapt...

_This chapter is for Those Who Reviewed. You are my angels; you know who you are._

Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle

PART III: THE GIRL WITH TWO FACES Chapter 3 

            "A fellow _what_?" Draco sputtered. His ears couldn't have been working right. He could have sworn she'd said –

            "Slytherin," Mica repeated quietly. "What house did you think I was in?"

            He looked at her, her face as pointedly blank as it had been when she was a child, her still-tiny body swathed in the vast folds of black linen that he supposed constituted a robe. A robe for someone the height and size of Diana. For the first time he noticed the green scarf she also wore – green for Slytherin, Draco realized. "Well…" he said slowly, "Gryffindor. Your parents were in Gryffindor. And – your aunt and uncle."

            "Is that a reason?" She laughed, a bitterer laugh than he would have wished for her. "Slytherin is for the clever and ambitious. I was – am – a genius. Ambition was no problem. I have determination by the gallon when I need it."

            He said nothing, merely stepped onto the first step of the fire escape and extended a hand. Mica hesitated a moment, then took it.

            As they made their way down the stairs, it occurred to him that she was still strangely like the little girl she had been fourteen years before. She was still petite, so diminutive of figure that her stature seemed small in proportion as well. Her eyes were still the cloudy blue that he remembered so well, though they were not the eyes of a child. Had they ever been? He wondered.

            Once inside the flat, Draco brewed them some of the mango ceylon tea that Sirius kept in a bowl over the fireplace. Mica sat down and kindly left him the right half of the couch, which was, for her, quite a compromise. Once they had sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, she spoke.

            "I'm sorry that I… blew up at you like that."

            "It's not a problem," he replied. "So long as you don't go through with the bit about killing me."

            Mica smiled a lazy half-smile at him, running her right hand through her wavy brown hair. There were faint purple shadows under her eyes that hinted of nightmares and sleepless nights, but there was also a visible look of relief to her. "Oh, I can't. I need you." She paused. "To kill Marcus."

            "Ah, yes. The subject at hand. The Pact is being made on Slytherin's deathday, you know."

            Nodding, she took a sip of her tea. "That would be in accordance with what Caro has told me. Marcus is brown-haired, isn't he? Not dyed his hair or anything?"

            "He is."

            "Good. When is Slytherin's deathday, anyway?"

            "October 1st."

            "There. That's settled, then." She set her teacup down on the coffee table, and looked up at him again. He felt a sudden urge to say something, something that would set her free from her strange obsession with Marcus Flint's death and the nightmares, anything that would free her from the events of that terrible night so many years before… if only _he_ could have…

            Out of the blue, there came a rapping noise from the window. Draco watched as she got up to let the owl in, its tawny wings fluttering furiously. Mica seemed to recognize it, giving it an odd look before she opened its message.

            "Draco," she said, sounding utterly terrified, "My sister is missing."

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

            Mica couldn't breathe. Her chest ached, and she felt as if she were falling into a bottomless black abyss. How _could_ they take Lily Elizabeth from her? How dare they?

            Caro was different. Caro had been dying all this while, perhaps even before she herself was born, and her death was painful, but accepted. Lily Elizabeth was just a little girl, her _sister_, and she had never done anything to anyone…

            She wasn't quite sure how she wound up on the couch, though she did remember the kind blackness enveloping her as she slid to the floor. The next conscious thought she had was regarding the fact that the room was dark. Not entirely dark, though… some light must have been coming from the fireplace, which her back was to, at the moment. So Mica rolled over.

            As she landed with a thump on something – or someone – beneath her, she reflected that rolling over on such a narrow couch had not been such a good idea. But, to her surprise, Draco did not wake, so she simply stood up and made for the kitchen, where she found, after some searching, a can of soup that had only a thin layer of dust atop it.

            Mica poured it in a pan, and put a Warming Charm on it, before she went back into the living room to contact Sirius via fireplace. With a faint smile, she noted that Draco was still peacefully snoring on the floor in front of the couch. Then she turned to the fire, took a pinch of gold powder from a small bowl on the mantle, and threw it into the fire.

            "Sirius Black, Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables, Division Five, Section One, operative twenty-three," she said crisply.

            Her first glimpse of Sirius was his back; then he spun around in his chair abruptly. 

            "What on-" he began, and then he saw her face.

            "Lily Elizabeth's been kidnapped, I'm at your flat, and as far as Malfoy's concerned, the jig is up," Mica said slowly, on some level thinking that perhaps if he could comprehend it, so might she.

            "Morgan's _wand_," Sirius declared in a fervent manner. Then he paused. "That's not- er-"

            "Not quite blasphemous, Uncle, but please…" She sighed. "Without Lily Elizabeth, the whole thing will be in vain, because there's no one else I can trust with putting the Amulet on me. Assuming that we find it. I don't know _how_ he's found out, but… it's more important than ever that we continue. Owl Ginny and let her know I'll be by later."

            "Later?" he asked.

            "Malfoy wants explanations," she stated flatly.

            "_Mica_," her uncle began sternly, but she interrupted him.

            "Listen, I'd thought a – a wrong thing about him, for a long, long time, and that was Flint's fault. I owe him some clarification, because... because I do, that's all."

            "Very well, then."

            Absently, she tapped out the fire-link, and then got up to tend to the soup, which had begun to boil.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

            A moment can be as long as infinity or as brief as a nanosecond, as Sirius remembered when he saw the look in his niece's blue eyes. He had last seen that look when someone mentioned the quite timely disappearance of Draco Malfoy ("_that good-for-nothing bastard_") at a picnic eight years before… he had seen that terrible horror spreading out over her face as she dropped her glass of water onto Ginny's tiled floor, not seeing it shatter into innumerable shards on her bare feet. Mica still had the scars.

            He still didn't understand that look, though; he had a feeling that he never would. Twelve years in prison had given him a little wariness of others, but Mica… she was as remote and delicate as a princess. Fear was an emotion that he understood, but he got the feeling that fear was entirely alien to Mica; what he saw in her face was something far more basic and terrifying that fear, an emotion older, perhaps, than the Great Pensieve whose golden memories ran in his niece's veins.

            Sirius found that it was more frightening that anything to hear her voice slow and steady, to hear her tell him without tears that her sister was missing. If Mica had ever loved anyone in her life, it was her sister Lily Elizabeth. 

            He got to his feet after Mica had closed the fire-link, shuffled the papers on his desk into some kind of order, and Apparated to the Potter home. It was past midnight; he ought to have been home long before.

            Harry was as silent as stone, and Ginny couldn't look at anything without crying.

            He embraced them both before he spoke.

            "Listen, Ginny, everything will be all right," Sirius began, a little awkwardly. "I've set an agent on it; there's someone looking out for Lily Elizabeth as we speak."

            At this, Harry frowned. "You've set Diana on her, haven't you?"

            "Of course," he said.

            "So now my own daughter's mixed up in this Flint business, isn't she? When will you decide it's time to tell me what you're holding back? When the boys go missing?" His godson's voice was hard and angry.

            "Harry…" Sirius sighed. "It is safer for her, infinitely safer for Lily Elizabeth, even, if you don't know. Diana is the last person you could imagine being an Unutterable, you understand; she is Diana only to you, I, and a few select others."

            Ginny looked up at him, sharply. "Diana is a princess of the night, you know. A Roman goddess."

            The corner of his mouth turned up, producing a smile. "And that is why it is her name."

            His godson's wife looked at him for a long moment, and he recalled that long ago he'd heard someone say she was a Seer…

            "Lily Elizabeth is safe, dear," she said with a great whooshing exhalation of breath, and with that statement, Ginny straightened her back and detached herself from Harry's arm. Then she walked off into the kitchen. Harry simply gaped.

            Sirius quietly thought to himself that he would never understand women.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

            Draco slept, and he dreamt as he had never dreamt before…

            **No**_, the little girl said firmly. She wore a dress that was slightly long for her; she kept tripping on the edge of it. The stones of the courtyard were cold._

            (She would remember the feel of that dress's satin folds for the rest of her life; when her aunt tried to buy her satin dress robes in her fourth year at Hogwarts, she threw a temper tantrum that amazed both of them.)

_            They were in the heart of an impenetrable residence, Marcus Flint's Scotland estate, where Death Eaters and Leaguers of all nationalities mingled in the opulent ballrooms and hallways; she wasn't sure how many rooms there were, as the place was like a maze._

            On the third day of the gala, an air of expectation, of waiting, filled the rooms like the pungent fragrance of dying lilies. House-elves rushed to and fro, bustling about. Finally, one of them led her to immense, walled, cobblestone-floored courtyard.

            The people surrounded her in an undulating circle, which made her rather dizzy. The light from the candles they held was the only light in the darkness of the night, and it illuminated the small table on which a little pile of bones and a steaming cauldron were placed.

_            **Come**, Marcus said, crooking a slender finger at her. She shook her head._

_            **I don't want to play right now, Marcus. **_

**_            But we need you to, darling._**__

_            She was easily distracted. **Where's Draco? Has he got me the toy he promised?**_

**_            Draco's here._**_ The tall, bony man waggled a hand in the vague direction of the circle of people. **He'll give you the toy afterwards; he wants you to lend a hand.**_

**_            Why? This is boring._**_ She yawned. **I want to go play.**_

_            **You can do that later, little girl.** He took hold of her by the shoulder and yanked her over to the cauldron._

_            She didn't have time to protest before he slit her throat._

_            (Pain and red and black and she couldn't breathe, she was dying, and more pain like the crack of a whip after he spoke those words… choking and suddenly all the red was gone with another whisper, but pain still shot through her head…)_

_            The little girl lay gasping, prostrate on the floor, her eyes opened, the people milling around her still body, until Lowell came and put her in bed. _

_            (But she did not know fear.)_

_            (She knew only anger.)_

_            (**So now you know**, said a very familiar voice.)_

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            He slept until nearly one in the morning, and she watched over him as she had when she was Diana, silently sipping her soup. Mica did not smile as she listened to his quiet breathing. In fact, she wasn't really listening to it; she was internally berating herself for what she had done. The dream had been a spiteful thing to wish on anyone, worse yet on Draco. She was losing control again.

            It was the worst thing in the world to know she was wrong, that she was young, foolish. For the first time, she realized as she idly stirred her soup, she was learning that she was not infallible, for all her brilliance. There had been… other things, in her life, that she had brushed off, but the dream was far crueler than all of them. It had been wrong.

            It was almost reassuring for her to know this… It had been a long time since she had known calmness, or serenity, but now, with the fiery hounds of hell on her heels, she felt strangely at peace. Perhaps, she wondered as she leaned back in the chair, the peace of the damned?

            She looked at Draco, his face pale in the firelight. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, she thought of Lily Elizabeth, Lily Elizabeth who was possibly dead by now. Lily Elizabeth, her beloved baby sister, kidnapped by _them_ in the blackness of night. She reflected that she would die before she would let Marcus Flint do to her sister what he had done to her, so many years earlier.

            Mica was not one for idle resolutions.

            Draco stirred, suddenly, awakening from the tortured sleep that she had so foolishly sent him. His grey eyes blinked once before they met hers. 

            "I'm sorry," she said quietly, awkwardly. "I was wrong. I know that now."

            "Yes," he agreed, to her surprise. "You were. But I'll forgive you this once, so long as you don't plan on making it a regular sort of thing." The corner of his mouth bent up into what was, for him, a smile.

            She couldn't help but smile back. Maybe Lily Elizabeth was lost for the moment, but she had faith. They would find her.

            "We have to," Mica said aloud, absently.

            "We have to what?"

            "What? Oh. We have to find my sister, Lily Elizabeth."

            Draco gave her a bewildered look. "You have a sister?"

            "You don't – but no," she interrupted herself, "I suppose you wouldn't. She's really my cousin, but Ginny and Harry adopted me right before she was born, and I've always thought of her as my sister."

            "Ginny _Weasley_?" he exclaimed. 

            She was a bit perplexed. "Well, yes, of course – weren't they married before you were in- in prison?"

            "Azkaban's not a swear word, Mica," he said, in a tone that suggested a gentle rebuke. "And, yes, they were married, but they were living on opposite sides of the globe, then… I never thought she would really stay with him…"

            "You knew her, then?" she asked, inquisitive. "She was in the year under you, I think…"

            "I knew her." His tone made it clear the topic had come to an end.

            But Mica was interested.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            "Sirius?"

            Sirius Black had come home to a house full of two very awake young people, both of whom had bombarded him with questions at the earliest opportunity. Having finally made it to bed at two in the morning, he was very, very tired.

            When he rolled over in his bed, he caught a glimpse of his clock as he turned to face the fireplace. It was only four. "Just _who_ the hell do you think you-" He paused when he saw who it was. "Sorry, darling. It's just- a little early, that's all."

            Caroline smiled at him, her pale skin taunt against the delicate bones of her face. "It's always early for you, isn't it?"

            With an enormous amount of effort, he managed a chuckle. "Well, perhaps. What _do_ you want at this goddamned hour, anyway?"

            "I heard about Lily Elizabeth's disappearance," she replied. "She's- I know she's tied in. _You_ should know."

            "Is she really the right girl? I mean, there's always been doubt- and I couldn't believe that lightening would strike the same place twice."

            "Lee will be _saved_, this time." Caroline said sternly. "If that is what you mean."

            "No, no," he protested, internally yawning. It really was too early for this sort of thing. "It's just too much of a coincidence. I still think you should owl Sandra- _your_ Lee's always seemed more likely, to me, than Lily Elizabeth."

            "Believe me." Her voice was sharp. "I _know_. We've always known about the three daughters of the moon; that prophecy's as old as time. But you are only a Protector, Sirius. You don't have Lee's blood in your veins. She whispers, sometimes… as I creep closer to death. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt she will be saved, by the avenging angel that is our Bearer. I know _who_ will be saved."

            "If you do, then… that's all there is to it, I suppose. " 

            "Yes. Death won't be so painful, Sirius. Don't look at me like that."

            "Oh, Caroline," Sirius murmured, feeling his heart ache as he looked at her emaciated little face.

            "Two outlaws in love," she said softly. "We were, once. You saved me from a fate worse than death. I promise you this, my friend; no matter how terrible things get, balance will be restored. Whether all magic is abolished or returned to the equal state in which all things ideally repose, balance will be restored, and Lee will be saved. Trust in me."

            He didn't have to say anything. Trust had always been a given with them, back in the days when they were like milk and honey.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            He just couldn't believe it. 

            Draco had polished off the last of the soup, and now he sat, staring into the fire, as Mica wrote letters to several people and sent her owl, Skywalker, off with them. The cause of his incomprehension was simple; he had never really, truly accepted the fact that Ginny loved Harry, belonged with him. Even if he had been the one to send her back, the first time. She had been beautiful that night.

            Mica yawned, leaning back in her chair. "I think I'll call it a night," she said. "You do have taxis in this neighborhood?"

            He shook his head. "Sadly, no. How far…"

            "It's only a couple miles or so from here. Near LUS."    

            "LUS?" he queried, feeling a bit silly. The initials sounded familiar to him.

            "The London University of Sorcery," she explained. "I'm a student there, right now, for… research purposes. I start teaching next year."

            "_Teaching_?" It was beyond belief. This fragile little girl, sitting at the desk in front of him and looking like a breath of air might blow her away, _teaching_? 

            "Oh, not at LUS," she hastened to reassure him. "At Hogwarts. I'm going to be their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

            In Draco's opinion, it was highly unlikely that his jaw could drop any farther.

            "Well, you see, they've had Remus Lupin filling in my job for nearly five years now; it took me forever to convince him to stay as long as that. Six would be a bit much to ask of him."

            "_What_?" It was simply mind-boggling.

            "You see – but I suppose you don't." Mica sighed. "I – well, I've always been very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Among other things. I finished all the seven years of coursework by the end of my third year. I was in an Advanced Studies class."

            "Wow," he said, well knowing that only four people in his year had ever qualified in for Advanced Studies courses, and none until they became fifth years. "They don't just let anyone in."

            "No," she agreed with a smile. "No, they don't. I finished the rest of my classes within the next year. McGonagall – she's Headmistress now; Dumbledore died in my second year – she decided that I should spend the rest of my time taking correspondence courses from the Magical Institute at the Sorbonne. LUS doesn't offer them, if you're wondering. But I finished those as well – I have a doctorate in Arimancic Spellcraft – and in my seventh year, Sirius came to teach at Hogwarts, as the Transfiguration professor. Professor Delacour was on sabbatical. So I trained to become a member of the Department of Mysteries. Next year, I'm returning to train my successor and to remain indefinitely."

            Draco nodded after a few moments, finally saying the one thing foremost in his mind.

            "Might I inquire what on earth Arithmancic Spellcraft _is_?"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Of all the things he might have said, Mica hadn't expected that, and it relieved her a little. She laughed.

            "It's… a little complicated. It involves ancient methods of spell construction, back when straight verse was utilized instead of phrases. Today, the few of us in the field are working to create more spells, to expand the limits of what we can and can't do with magic. The whole thing is based on Arithmancy, in the precise calculations of rhyme and meter," she explained.

            "Oh," Draco said, sounding a little overwhelmed. Well, it had been a bit much for one evening, hadn't it? She yawned again, and rubbed her eyes. Alex would have her head for waking him at such an hour, but she had to get home. Dawn was breaking.

            "I'm going to go back home now, see if I can catch a few winks before class."

            "Do you want me to walk you home?" he asked.

            Mica was surprised, for a moment, until she remembered that Sirius did not live in one of London's most preferable districts. "No," she said, "I can ward myself sufficiently. But – thank you. Anyway."

            He nodded, in what she supposed was a silent reply. So she reached into the magic deep within her, and murmured, "_Nonveditis. Caperebon Cura_. I'll be off, then."

            "Very well."

            As she slipped out the window, she heard him chuckle, and she smiled - old habits died hard. Still, it was easier to go down the fire escape than the lift; people might ask questions of a lift going down at six in the morning, seemingly of its own volition.

            Mica walked the half-mile until she saw Bochard Avenue (a magical avenue, where several less wealthy wizarding families lived.) Silently, she ducked into the shade of the trees, and, extricating her wand with some difficulty (due to the voluminous state of her robes), she flagged down the Knight Bus.

            Stan, a friendly man about ten years older than Harry, helped her aboard the bus, and collected her fare. Meanwhile Ernie, the driver, inquired about her destination ("Trellis Way, off Flamel Boulevard." "Ah, by the University.") She settled down on her bed and took a short nap- the other beds were full of travelers waiting to be bussed to their respective destinations. About twenty minutes later when Stan tapped her on the shoulder, she awoke, and left the bus for her flat.

            To her surprise, Alex was awake when she came in.

            "Mica Weasley! Where the hell were you?" he exclaimed. "You've been out all night!"

            She shrugged off her outer robe and hung it on the coat rack. "Since when is that any of your business? You're not my nanny."

            "No… but all the same, your aunt and uncle won't like it."

            Biting back a scream, Mica spun around and glared at him. "And you would know? For your information, Alex, my sister has just been kidnapped. Now, will you _kindly_ shut it?"

            For once, her flatmate was entirely speechless.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Before he could lift his hand to knock on Ananda Lupin's door, she opened it. She was, as Sirius reflected, a singularly efficient woman, something surprising for Remus's daughter.

            "She's been expecting you," she said without the pretense of a greeting. "Do come in." 

            "Hello, Ananda." He was determined that one of them, at least, would observe the social niceties. As soon as he had made his way inside the house, she closed the door behind them, and led the way up the stairs. When they reached the door of Caroline's room, she left him.

            His first thought upon seeing Caroline was that she was tiny. She had always been a vibrant, powerful presence; but now, she was wan and listless.

            "Sirius," she murmured; and he took her hand, warm and still in his.

            "I have something great to ask of you," he said. "If it is too much, for you, or the Coven, then I apologize."

            Caroline laughed, and he remembered how he had loved that sound, her laughing. As rare and as beautiful as a diamond. "I can never repay you for the debts I owe. And you speak of asking too much of me?"

            "I need to see Lee. I need to hear her exact words, what she said."

            She was silent, for a moment. Then: "Do you know what that entails? I am not authorized, any longer. It would be a breaking of the Creed-"

            "Caroline, the Creed has been broken many times over in last forty years. And it says nothing of the Great Pensieve."

            "Very well, then. It is the least I can do for you. If you could give me a hand-" She tried to sit herself up in the bed, to no avail, and Sirius gently maneuvered her upwards, placing an arm across her back to pull her towards him. Putting an arm around his neck, Caroline finally achieved vertical status. "Thanks."

            He placed a fleeting kiss on her lips, watching her smile faintly; in the days when Voldemort reigned, and they battled for justice, side by side, that kiss would have ensured that the day's mission remained incomplete. But now, it was simply a nod to their memories of far-gone times, and she made the Sign in the air without hesitation.

            The familiar pungent smoke surrounded them – it always smelt of sandalwood – and it made him slightly dizzy for a moment. Then he caught his balance and, still holding his beloved Caroline, Sirius stepped through the gateway that hung suspending in the dense, fragrant cloud.

            "Ninth Protector," she murmured, "The key?"

            He smiled, at hearing her pronounce the name that he hadn't heard in years. "I haven't got it, at the moment. This was easier, too, with you. Let us go to the Pensieve."

            The Portal Hall, where they stood, was lined with doors, hundreds and hundreds of them, that seemed to extend on into the great beyond indefinitely. The grand arches of the ceiling were gilded, though their golden gleam was darkened by centuries of dust and cobwebs. The heels of his shoes clicked on the endless stretch of marble that was the floor.

            They entered the fifteenth door on their left, and their world spun in circles.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Draco awoke late that morning, to find sunshine spilling through the seemingly impenetrable London fog onto his face. With a grim smile, he rose and made for the toilet.

            An hour later, he was busy helping customers in Flourish and Blott's ("Yes, sir, you'll find that back in 'Magical Markdowns-'" "No, ma'am, we don't carry Gilderoy Lockhart anymore, he's quite out of print-") when two small, black-haired boys with mischievous brown eyes approached him. Inwardly, he winced. He wasn't awake enough to deal with children.

            "How might I help you?" he asked the two boys. 

            The taller of the two cleared his throat. "Er, we're looking for a present for our sister-"

            "It's her mum's birthday," the shorter one added, rather unhelpfully. "We were thinking we might find her a book with her mum in it, rather than the usual paperweights and such."

            "Not this year," conceded his brother. "They're too juvenile."

            Draco managed to extract from this muddle of information that the two boys were looking for a book with someone in it, and that they were not overly fond of arts and crafts.

            "So you're… looking for a biography, say?" he inquired.

            The two boys exchanged apprehensive glances. "Well, not a biography, exactly; if there is one, though, we'd take it-" the shorter one began.

            "So long as it's under two Galleons," the taller one hastened to add. "Mum'll have our heads if it's more. Your head, too, quite probably."

            At this, he raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, who is it that you're looking for a book about?"

            The shorter boy elbowed his brother, who extricated a piece of paper from his pocket, and squinted at it. "Herminny Grimger."

            "Hermione Granger?" Draco asked, disbelieving. Surely, not in span of twenty-four hours… "That's who you're looking for?"

            "Yes," the taller boy said emphatically, "That's it!"

            "Well…" He Summoned his catalogue, performed a quick Search charm, and informed the brothers that there were approximately three books with sections on Miss Granger, at one galleon three sickles, one galleon fourteen sickles, and twelve galleons four sickles. (The last was the latest edition of _Grumdinkels'._)

            The taller boy thought a moment. "What's the title of the first one?"

            With a glance at the page, he told him, "_The End of an Era: The Final Defeat of Voldemort._"

            The shorter boy shook his head. "No, Sirius- that's the one that-" He muttered something that sounded, to Draco's ears, like "highly inaccurate – Mum protested-" before saying, "We'll take the second."

            "Ah." He walked over to the cashier (the two brothers trailing behind him) and rang up _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts: Third Edition_. "Cash or-"

            "We have our mum's card," the taller boy interrupted, handing the object in question to him. Draco scanned it in, as was procedure, verified the two boys were authorized to spend so much on a book, and charged it.

            Then he looked at the name on the card.

            Virginia Margaret Weasley Potter.

            _Ginny_.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Mica awoke with a start when Skywalker started nibbling on her fingers. With a look at the clock, she decided that it was far too late to even think about going to class. So she took a shower, dressed, and made for her aunt and uncle's home, roughly ten blocks away.

            As she walked through the dismal and slightly chilly London fog (whose characteristics remained intact despite the noon-time hour) she remembered, somewhat bitterly, the last time she had seen her little sister.

            _It was the end of summer, and she had returned for a week from three months in the mountains of Wales with Caro. Lily Elizabeth had been happy – so happy – to see her, and the boys had informed her, quite seriously, that they loved their birthday present, before running off to hide in the shrubbery. She had never quite understood Ron and Sirius._

            She had taken Lily Elizabeth to the first showing of some highly anticipated Muggle movie that her Muggle-born friends had been fawning over. Despite the general squalor of Muggle cinemas, she herself was rather fond of them, a fondness perhaps inherited from her aunt. She and Lily Elizabeth had a lovely time, eating the buttery and inordinately expensive popcorn, drinking Muggle soft drinks, and watching the movie (which wasn't half-bad.)

            Would she ever see Lily Elizabeth again? she wondered.

            Just as Mica opened the gate in the white picket fence of the Potter house, two identically powerful forces suddenly rammed into her from behind. Oh hell, she thought. The twins.

            Ron and Sirius were equally dismayed to see her.

            "Oh, er…" Sirius, the taller of the two began, "We thought you were Mum."

            Mica said nothing, but she fixed him with a steely eye.

            "Alright, alright," Sirius admitted. "We thought you were Mrs. Figg from next door. You know, the fat, mean old lady who smells like cats?"

            "Your robes _are_ really big," Ron said, by way of an excuse.

            She sighed, inwardly made a note to have a talk with Ginny about the boys, and put her hand to her forehead. "It's okay… This has just been a very long day, that's all."

            Her brothers then ran past her, through the gate, and up the stairs of the house. After a moment, she followed them.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Sirius wobbled faintly when his feet touched the floor, then got his balance. Caroline had thrown her arms around his neck in their seemingly endless flight, so, gently, he helped her to her feet, and supported her as she slowly, slowly walked to the two chairs pulled up to the Great Pensieve. After she had been safely seated, he moved to sit down across from her-

            But she stopped him with the quick gesture of one pale hand.

            "Ninth Protector, darling," she said softly, "There are customs to be observed. That chair-"

            "Oh!" he exclaimed, comprehending a few seconds too late. "That is Mica's?"

            "No," Caroline said, to his confusion, "That is the Bearer's."

            Despite their many years together, he had never entirely understood her firm hand with Coven tradition and her seeming keenness to defy its more important rules. But Sirius let well enough alone. Caroline had her mysteries, and he his.

            "Show me," he reiterated.

            "Patience is a virtue, you know." Tentatively, she placed her hands over pool of molten gold that was the Pensieve, their slender, interwoven fingers forming a Sign he had never seen before. When she took them away, a tall woman with serene eyes stood in the table's hollow.

            "Lee," Sirius said hoarsely. "Oh, my beautiful Lee."

            She looked at him, looked up at someone, the someone whose memories had been awakened for these moments of clarity. When she spoke, her voice was like silk and fire.

            "You know what I have seen," she began. "Oh, Min, do not doubt me. It would be easier for you. But I do not see myself in this future, not actively; I will be purely tangential. I am the first flower of which Merlin's Song sings, and I have seen that the little girl's shadow falls on the second. As for the third, I see farthest. In her future I see trial by fire, by darkness, and ultimately by her own mind. She will be the element of fire among us. I will be the earth, and the shadow-daughter will be the spirit. The Vestal fire will forge a sword of earth and spirit, as it was over a thousand years before."

            A voice spoke, a familiar voice that made Sirius's mouth curl upwards in a wry smile. "The Past Bearer – before she died – she spoke of trial by fire for the third flower. Can you scry? She spoke of, perhaps… " The voice lowered itself to a whisper. "Death."

            "I can scry," Lee said, sounding oddly resolute. She rummaged in a pocket of her robes, and, seeing the Hogwarts logo, Sirius realized that she was not as old as he had thought. She must have been only sixteen or seventeen.

            He lost that train of thought when she produced a crystal scrying ball – but a crystal ball the like of which he had never seen before. It was a perfect sphere, and so clear that he half-wondered whether it was really crystal, or perhaps was actually glass. Lee held it in the palm of her left hand, fingers curling up around it, and it sat there for about half a minute before it, and her eyes, began to glow. 

            Winds whipped through the world inside the table and Lee's robes swirled around her, but she paid no heed. For perhaps two minutes this went on, the winds gradually escalating until they reached hurricane strength.

            Then they stopped, and the silence was deafening.

            Lee looked up, her eyes still softly glowing, and she said in a monotone, "The third flower of the fire will be saved by a Princess and her Prince. She will be the Queen, and the Sword her companion when her soul abandons her. Trial by fire awaits her; trial by a limitlessly terrible Pact and the green haze of death. The first flower will die aglow in the green light; the second will be scarred by it; and the third will escape it."

            She closed her eyes, tightly wrapped her fingers around the scrying ball, and collapsed motionless in the floor.

            Sirius was brought back to reality a few minutes later by the return of the gold liquid to the table, and the unmistakable, heart-wrenching sound of Caroline weeping, the sobs wracking her frail body.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Draco fell asleep over the last chapter of Interview with the Vampire early that night, just as the sun was setting over London, its smoggy grey daughter. He was awakened in the wee hours of the morning by the now-familiar sound of the window being opened, and he smiled slightly as he listened to her climb through. After several long, silent moments, the kindling in the fireplace burst into flame, and he saw Mica, once again enveloped in the billowing black robes that made her look even smaller than she really was.

            "Morning," she said, taking a seat on the floor. He assumed this action was intended to be a compromise between forcing him to move off the couch and admitting defeat by taking the chair. His smile did not go unnoticed. "You have no right to look so smug at this hour. It's unbecoming."

            He choked back a laugh. Mica frowned at him – more like at the couch – and suddenly he found himself lying on the floor next to her. She was shaking with laughter.

            "You play dirty," he commented. She snorted.

            "Perhaps." With a wry grin, she leaned over him, her brown hair falling over her shoulders in honey-coloured waves. "At least I know you're awake. Listen, I've talked with one of my- friends from Hogwarts. Her brother knows you, and he's got a few inside links with the League. He's going to help us tonight."

            "_Tonight?_" he exclaimed. "But it's not-"

            "It's September 30th."

            "Then we ought to get going, hadn't we!" He quickly made a move to sit up, one that quite accidentally brought him nose-to-nose with Mica. She smiled, and softly brushed his cheek with the tip of one finger.

            "You haven't changed a bit, you know." 

            They sat there for a few moments like that before, quite suddenly, her smile faded, and she stood up, holding a hand out to him. 

            "Come," she said, "Change your robes. I'll get us some breakfast and let Sirius know where we're going, and then we'll be off."

            He let her help him up, and then watched as she walked down the hallway. Something had changed between them, Draco realized, whether over the past fourteen years or in the dim light before dawn, and he was not sure if he liked it.

            After he'd taken a perfunctory shower and bathed, they met again in the kitchen, a room now full of the delicious aroma of cinnamon buns. After quickly devouring one apiece, they left the flat. Mica led the way, and he followed, brimming with curiosity, but not saying a word.

            Draco was beginning to think they might walk forever when a loud, booming "Oi, Weasel!" came from the direction of a street lamp they had just past.

            With a sense of foreboding, he spun around to find Skunk Montague bowing to his highly amused companion, and he decided that it was going to be a very, very long day.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Lily Elizabeth tossed and turned on her makeshift bed, haunted by the new dream that had kept her prisoner for the duration of her capture.

            _"**No**!" Lily screamed, "I won't let you touch her. Don't come near her. Leave us alone." She stood on the front porch of a small cottage, in front of a small girl with terror in her eyes, who clung to Lily's leg. It was late at night, and they stood in the shadowy recess of the front door._

_            A tall man with straight, shoulder length black hair stood perhaps five feet away from them. "You don't **understand**," he said, his voice desperate. "I want to protect her. He wants her dead. He knows he's here, and if you're not careful- he'll find out about you too."_

_            She stepped forward into the small circle of light from the street lamp, and she knew he could see the slight rounding of her belly. "He knows, Severus," she said quietly, tiredly. "He knows enough to want to kill me, and James, and our baby. She'll be gone by nightfall tomorrow- safe enough by the vernal equinox. It's the only time he could kill her, or us. We'll be in hiding."_

_            "The autumnal?"_

_            "I don't-" Lily put a hand to her forehead, and then sighed. She rubbed her eyes. "No one can see that far. We'll be safe, though," she insisted._

_            "Let me take her," Severus Snape repeated, holding out a large, slender hand._

_            "And who would care for her? Severus, I trust you, because Albus does, but Albus, unlike you, understands that she is my charge. Mine and mine alone."_

_            "Very well," he hissed at her. "Lily Potter, I warned you. I know what Voldemort is planning. You know how your end will come."_

_            With that, he turned on his heel and walked off into the night. _

**Coming Soon:**

Part III, Chapter Four 

Much thanks to my SevenOfQuills sisters: Andie, karei, Kellie, Liss, Plu, and Tabi Jo. *hugs* You're wonderful, all of you. Extra special thanks to Liss for the Beta.

Come join us at SevenOfQuills! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SevenOfQuills/

Notes: The "My beautiful Lee" line is a direct reference to PJ Harvey's marvelous song of that name. Go on, download it!


	9. Part III: The Girl With Two Faces *Chapt...

**Harry Potter and the Amulet of Houle**

_PART III: THE GIRL WITH TWO FACES_

**Chapter 4**

            "Come _on," exclaimed Skunk (whose hair, Draco noted, had been returned to its natural black colour.) "We 'aven't got all day!"_

            "Just a moment-" he said. "You? Your_ sister?"_

            "They're not exactly working for the Ministry," Mica interjected. "Emily is training to replace me after this year- I'll be teaching, in reserve duty. Skunk is just… lending a hand. Ministry's too legit for you, eh?" This last part was directed toward Skunk, who flashed a debonair smile.

            "Right you are, milady," the urchin agreed.

            She laughed. To him, she said, "It'll be fun!" Then she turned to Skunk and began to converse with him in hushed tones. It was the happiest Draco had seen her in many years, and he wondered absently if she was quite sane. Then again, she was Mica, and those two things had never exactly equated.

            He was abruptly jolted from this train of thought when she took him by the hand and started running down the street after Skunk – who, he realized belatedly, had already taken off in that direction… and suddenly his feet fell from out beneath him.

            "You don't do Portholes very gracefully, do you?" Mica inquired, not unkindly.

            "A Porthole? Is _that what that was?" he asked, prying himself off the very, very hard and equally expensive marble of the floor._

            "Weren't you listening? Yes, that _was a Porthole." She took his hand again, and pulled him up. "Come, let's go." And they took off down the marble hall. It was all marble, endless, endless marble… he looked up, and saw the gold arches of the ceiling curving away above him… and knew where he was, though he had never been there. The Portal Hall._

            It was like a dream, a strange, nightmarish thing – the hall wasn't exactly dark, but there was a notable absence of light. He ran faster than his feet should have been able to carry him; Mica's laughter echoed strangely in the halls, as if it too ran down them, and he heard something strangely sinister in its joy. Skunk's footsteps were feather-light taps on the marble, and he could no longer see Keith Montague's son in the nebulous half-light of the hall.

            Then it came to him where they were going, and he shuddered, then stopped, yanking Mica back to him.

            "What the hell do you think you're _doing?" he hissed, grasping her by her upper arms. "Not now. We haven't the time!"_

            "I don't need your Key," she snapped. "I need a scrying ball. There'll be one."    "**_What__?" She wasn't a Seer, surely…_**

            "I can't scry," she murmured, as if she had read his mind. "But I know a few little tricks. Don't be afraid." Mica wriggled out of his grasp, and turned to her left.

            She lifted her hand, and, with an accuracy that seemed to indicate the entire thing had been planned – but of course it couldn't have been, he reasoned, the Hall shifted around quite a bit – she placed it in the center of the door in front of her. It shimmered, then dissolved, to reveal a small cubbyhole of room built of grey stone. Long shelves lined the back wall.

            "Think that's it," Skunk said, nodding, and Draco raised an eyebrow at that. Skunk a Protector as well? His suspicions were confirmed when Skunk removed a golden Key from his weathered Muggle leather pants, and placed it in the center of Mica's palm.

            "Thanks, Eleventh," she said casually, a name-drop to indicate exactly what she thought of her less obedient Second. "Yes." She walked through the doorway, the key-laden palm stretched out before her, and it appeared to consider her for a moment before admitting her to the storeroom. After a moment of rummaging about on one of the top shelves, she selected a deep blue – but utterly clear – crystal ball. "I want you to promise me something," she continued, after exiting the room.

            "Wot?" Skunk inquired. He himself only lifted an eyebrow inquisitively.

            "Don't stop me, no matter what I do."

            Before he could get a word out, Skunk spoke. "Sounds fine t' me."

            Mica looked up to meet Draco's grey eyes for a long moment. Then, with a few swift, rapid movements, she drew a little jeweled knife from her belt, and slashed open her palms.

            Then she took the ball into her hands, and he was blinded.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Her nerves about froze with the searing pain, but she reminded herself that she wasn't mortal anymore. She was a Daughter, and blood was more than a mere giver of life, it was magic, and memory. Even so, her hands were so slick with blood that she could barely grasp the ball.

            Caro had told her never to do this except in the direst of circumstances. Well, this was dire, wasn't it? It was life or death, now or never…

            "Tell me," Mica demanded of the ball, softly. "Show me Lee." And slowly, slowly, in a mile of a nanosecond, an image bloomed in the shadowy darkness of the blue crystal, and she was alone within a serene ball of light. It was an image she'd seen once, oh, a very, very long time ago, when she'd opened a photo-album that her uncle kept on top of the bookshelf…

            Lee was beautiful, that was true, but she was beautiful in a powerful sort of way that was less beauty than it was strength. Capability. Mica faintly remembered the first time that she'd ever seen Caro, so long ago; _she had been that beautiful. But- Caro was dark and elegant and Lee… was like a wild horse and a bonfire. Her hair was flame, licking her shoulders, her eyes brilliant and green like something wild and free. Like Harry's, but without that haunted look. She was tall and vibrant; a lily in flower, a tiger lily. She was Lily Potter, and she was Lee._

            In a vague, faint sort of way Mica became aware of the fact that she was hyperventilating, and that the copper tang of her blood had pervaded the air.

            "Draco…" she whispered, and he caught her when she wobbled.

            "_Vestis ad corium," he muttered, with a quick wave of his wand, and her palms were wrapped in bandages. "Can you stand on your own?"_

            "Not sure." Tentatively, she tried to stand on her own – and then she clutched at his shoulder before her knees gave out. "No."

            "Skunk-" Draco began, but then he paused, and frowned.

            "What?"

            "He's gone."

            "Oh- Emily! I should have thought of it. Yes. When they get back I'll tell him it's no use. She can't help us with this." She shook her head, looked down, and realised her robes were covered in golden blood. "Oh, sod it all."

            He tightened his arms around her waist. "Don't worry about your robes, I can take care of them later. I'm going to Key home. Are you all right with that?"

            "Home." She tested the word. "Sirius's flat."

            "No- the Manor, actually," Draco replied. "Look, it's not really home, but- it's where Marcus has decided to convene. The Ministry's given it a look-see, taken all the Dark objects out of it, but the courtyard's still fare game."

            "That was cruel of you," she said, even as he touched the Key, but she knew that he wasn't listening, and she surrendering to oblivion willingly.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Ginny had put the Tarot cards away for now, but the images still haunted her, as she went about the house, even when she was on duty, guarding the borders, occasionally catching a glimpse of one of the others that roamed the sandy landscape of the between-realm she preferred.

            The night before, Stella had come up to her. It was the first time she had seen the Watcher, save from a distance, in nearly… oh, twelve years? She hadn't changed, though. That was Stella's way. 

            **_Are you worried?__ She felt the warm weight of a child's hand on her shoulder and heard the faint, breathy words before she saw their speaker._**

_            **Truly? I'm terrified, she replied, turning to face the girl. She was only a girl, after all, surely no older than her own Lily Elizabeth. ****Why now, after all this time? Will Morgan take her from me?**_

_            **Morgan! Oh, if you could see everything as I do…! Stella laughed. ****You See, but Seeing lacks clarity… it's hazy…**_

_            **And how do**** you **__see, Stella?_

            _The girl tilted her head in thought for a moment. **Mortals see time as an unrolling scroll, she said. ****Just because they cannot see what is written on it before it is unrolled does not mean that nothing is there.**_

            **_There is nothing left to fate, then._**

_            **Of course Fate plays her hand! Would a tree be a tree if it had but one place to grow? I see time's branches, an ever-spinning web.**_

_            **You frighten me sometimes, she remarked, only half-joking.**_

_            **Do I? the girl asked. ****Do I? I don't mean to. I was Called so long ago… it is hard to remember mortals now. I remember your daughter.**_

_            **How can you? she wondered aloud. ****I was fourteen, and you were here…**_

_            **How can I? How can I, indeed? Stella smiled. ****Don't be afraid. Have faith.**_

_            And with that, she was gone, across the windy dunes of time._

            Ginny pondered this visitation. Had she missed a nuance? Could there be some meaning behind the words that she had failed to grasp? Her daughter in the hands of fiends, and she… even with the Sight, she was still blind to the Plan she knew hung in the air, about to slip into place.

            Perhaps she had been wrong, so many years ago, to turn her back on the Sight. Now she was desperate and still a novice in trade she could have mastered with ease. But who could have faulted her for the choice? There had been love on either side of the border, but she had chosen to follow a fortune-teller's whispered words to Harry, and she had never had regrets. Not in choosing him, at least. No, Harry was not a choice, she told herself, but a destination.

            Nonetheless, she found herself remembering the other side of the boundary, the rapture that might have awaited her. She remembered the King of Cups, her love, and swore again that if she could help it, she would never again think of those fingers, brushing softly against her ankles…

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            "Sorry, Twiggy," he apologized to the house-elf as he stepped on her toes. "It's a bit urgent, as you can see."

            "Yes, Master Draco!" Twiggy squeaked, sounding a little nervous. Whether apprehensive that he was being polite to her or nervous because of the fact Company was coming after dinner, he wasn't sure. "I'll get Moss to brew some herb tea, shall I?"

            "Do," he said, dismissing her with a quick nod, and thanking several deities that he'd finally gotten his estate back from the Ministry. He'd owl Sirius as to where they were, of course… when he'd taken care of Mica.

            She'd gone very, very Diana-like pale from the blood loss, and collapsed as they Keyed to the Manor. At the moment he didn't really give a damn what Moss was brewing in the kitchen- he was more concerned about her waking up. Ever.

            He healed her hands once he'd found a healing charm in an old copy of _The Grown Wizard's Standard Book of Spells that was in one of the guest rooms; then she stirred, faintly, and her cloudy blue eyes blinked open._

            "This is getting to be old-hat very quickly," she said, and closed her eyes again.

            Draco groaned. "Mica, Mica… _please wake up."_

            She didn't move.

            "_Shit," he avowed emphatically._

            In a single, sinuous movement he turned to the fireplace, reached up into the dish on the mantel, and threw a pinch of gold dust on the hearth.

            "Sirius Black," he said.

            It took him a few minutes to get clearance – tense minutes – and then Sirius was there, blinking owlishly at him.

            "It's only seven in the morning. Should I ask if you have a reason or kill you now?" the elder man inquired, deadpan.

            "Mica- she's hurt herself. _Deliberately," he stressed. "You should come here. I don't know any healing spells or-"_

            "Where are you?"

            "Malfoy Manor."

            "Just a moment, and I'll be with you." With that, Sirius's head vanished from the fireplace, and Draco sat down on the bed next to Mica. To wait.

            After a moment, her eyes flickered open again, and she placed her hand on his. But before he could speak, she slipped back into the quiet slumber, and her hand went limp. It was very cold.

            Sirius found him there, her delicate hand in his two slender, strong ones.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            _She was in the desert, she realised. It was windy and night had fallen – a night which she knew so well. A night which she had seen just a few months before…_

_            **Morgan? She asked hesitantly. No answer. She spun around…but saw nothing. Nothing besides the trails of sand blowing across the dunes of the desert.**_

_            **She comes again! A voice declared from behind her. ****In you. She was surprised by the voice – it was young and childlike, certainly not of any of the speakers she had seen in her mother's long-ago dream. ****But it wasn't a dream, the soft voice continued, ****It was a Sending.**_

_            **Who are you? She asked, turning around again, this time to see a girl about Lily Elizabeth's age, clad in Muggle clothing. Her face was round, though there was a definite point to her chin, and a pair of brown eyes shone wisely in that incongruous setting.**_

_            **I am Stella, the child-sage stated. ****And you have come to Morgan's Fire now – are you already leaving the world of the living?**_

_            **No – no! She was quick to protest, ****She Summoned me.**_

_            **We don't say Summoned here, Stella informed her, ****Just Called. That's odd… the girl added, musing to herself. ****But no matter. If Morgan Calls, she Calls, and she cannot be denied.**_

_            **Do you think I would deny her? Risk her wrath?**_

**_            I don't know you. Yet.__ It was still startling to see those eyes, earnest and wise, in that young face, and she thought that perhaps Stella was an inverse of what she was. To all appearances, at least. _****Appearances can be deceiving, Stella reminded her.**

_            **You know what I'm thinking.**_

_            **Serving could not be done otherwise, the girl said matter-of-factly. ****I try to be discreet. You do as well, I notice.**_

**_            I can't read minds._**

**_            Do you trust me?_**

**_            Why wouldn't I? __she inquired of Stella._**

_            **Then come. The girl put one hand to her necklace, outstretched the other, and she hesitated – just for a moment – before taking it. ****It is faster this way.**_

_            A fluttery, aching feeling settled in her stomach for a moment, then she blinked, and there they were, perhaps a foot away from the bonfire, though none of the animals seemed to notice their arrival._

_            **Keying has its benefits, Stella commented nonchalantly. ****Pity that you can't.**_

_            **Too much power, she breathed.**_

_            **Yes, there is that.**_

_            A slender weretigre, seated in a familiar marble throne a little bit farther off, spoke, **Stella, time is of the essence.**_

_            **Sorry, the girl apologized. ****Go on, Bearer. Morgan doesn't bite.**_

_            **Often, the weretigre added, a note of humor in her voice.**_

_            She walked over to where Morgan sat, realizing for the first time as she walked that she, too, had assumed her Animagus form. **Greetings, she said, giving an awkward bow.**_

_            **Don't bow to me, said Morgan. ****We are equals.**_

_            **You're not one for pretense, are you? she asked.**_

_            **Nor are you. And we are the same, you mustn't forget that. You are Morgan Incarnate. Why do you think I am so weak here, in the realms? Soon you will have all of me, and all my powers. Morgan sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily with a pale hand. ****Use them wisely, Sister.**_

_            **Shall I be Mistress here as well? she asked. ****What if I don't want a life in the realms?**_

_            **No, said Morgan. ****That… I have given that to Nimue, for now, unless you desire the throne. You have more ties to the world than I did.**_

**_            Me?__ she laughed, shrilly. _****Me?**

**_            You know.__ The other weretigre's voice was deadly quite. _****Or you will. Lee and the Amulet are yours; find them, and send her back to us. I trust in you.**

            She came to in a dizzying whirl of light, hearing a familiar voice murmuring in her ear…

            "Mica, are you all right? Can you hear me? Mica, please wake up…"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            "Caroline?" The soft, gentle voice asked. "Caroline, do you want any tea?"

            "Perhaps, in a few minutes, Ananda… I'm so tired. You know what tonight is. Our ides of March," she replied in a tone barely above a whisper.

            "Severus sent you some potions- he thought they might help. And you don't need to call me Ananda, dear. No one uses my real name any longer. I miss it."

            Caroline sighed, wrapped the blankets more tightly around her, without opening her eyes. "You can't think she won't be angry with you. She loves- the idea of you, so very much. If she knew-"

            "Wouldn't you have done the same? Didn't you, when Eric died and you thought you had lost everything in the world worth living for?" The voice was still soft, but it had lost its serenity.

            She opened her eyes, stared at the white-ivory of the bed's canopy. "I was foolish- naïve. And I knew Lee, my little daughter, would be safer there."

            "I thought she was dead." No need to ask who "she" was – Caroline knew she wasn't talking about Lee. "Can you blame me?"

            "I don't blame you – no, no, far from it – but isn't it safer she thinks you gone? No one knows, no one but you, Remus, Severus, and I…" Caroline had closed her eyes again, but she still felt her sit down on the bed. Ananda took her hand in hers.

            "I have been Ananda too long. You knew her. Before she died- she was such a kind, caring person, so terribly young. Remus- my heart aches to think of it. He must have felt the same."

            "She wanted you to become her. It was escape for you."

            "_She was seventeen. She knew I'd been in hiding for six years – she just offered me a less constricting cage. It's a complicated Glamourie, true, but I could have survived without it. She knew I'd be free again, in the end."_

            She managed a faint laugh in Ananda's direction. "Is it because Remus has qualms about falling in love with his daughter?"

            "No- we've never- you're a silly old woman, do you know that? You really are."

            "I'm not old."

            "Yes – but you're silly."

            "Perhaps. But – I would hope for happiness for you. Anywhere. Settle down. Have another daughter. Watch _her from a distance. Don't come too close. She's barely got a handle on things as it is."_

            "Severus wouldn't have me."

            "Severus? Well – he's a good man. I'm sure he'd think about it. Don't think you're fooling me by changing the subject, young lady."

            That provoked a laugh from Ananda. "Young? I'm no spring chicken either."

            "But you're so young," Caroline said with feeling, "Compared to me."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            After nearly an hour, she came around with a sudden start in his arms. Sirius blinked in surprise.

            "Mica?" Draco asked, for the hundredth time, and this time she smiled blearily up at him.

            "I'm not hurt so awfully," she said. "Morgan Called me. That's all."

            "**_Morgan?" he and Sirius exclaimed in tandem; then they gave each other identical looks of amazement._**

            "You – a _Protector?" He blinked, quite startled._

            "I could say the same to you," Sirius replied. The two men continued giving each other strange glances until she made a sudden movement to get off the bed – then they simultaneously pushed her back down.

            "Merlin, what do you think I'm going to do?" Mica exclaimed. "Bleed on you?"

            "No," he replied sharply, "Sit up. And faint again."

            "You don't understand. A little blood is nothing."

            He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at her. "You call that a _little blood? And passing out is nothing?"_

            Mica sighed, stretched- she looked even more elfin half-asleep than she did awake. "Perhaps I'm related to the Black Knight," she muttered. "It's just a flesh wound, after all."

            Sirius snickered at this, though Draco himself couldn't see what was so funny. "I don't particularly care at the moment," he snapped. "How are you supposed to be up and about and killing people when your hands are a mess? I used a Healing Charm, but even so they'll be scarred-"

            Wordlessly, she held out her hands, palms first. There was no sign that they had ever been cut.

            "Morgan works in mysterious ways, doesn't she?" Mica remarked, sitting up, and this time neither he nor Sirius moved to restrain her. "Is there perhaps a wardrobe that I could raid?"

            "My mother's," he replied before he could stop himself.

            Sirius looked at him again, this time with an expression of wry amusement. "You really think Narcissa's togs would be Mica's style?"

            "There's no satin-"

            Mica looked profoundly grateful. Sirius shrugged. "No, fur and silk were always more her taste. Perhaps one of the tea gowns she was fond of?"

            "I can choose for myself!" she chided. "Please! I'm not an invalid, you know. And it's annoying to have you clucking over my clothes like a bunch of old hens."

            "Hens?" Sirius asked, unable to repress a chuckle.

            "Well, more like…yes, hens. Now," she made a sweeping gesture. "Off with you! After, of course," she turned towards him, "You show me your mother's closet." 

            He smiled dryly. She really did remind him a bit of Granger at times. But, he decided, not in a bad way. No, not at all…

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            "Don't laugh," Mica said, stepping out of the spacious dressing room. "That's all I ask. They were the only things that were small enough." She narrowly avoided tripping over the skirt.

            Not that the robes were altogether horrible, no; in fact, if the mirror's reaction was anything to gauge by, they were actually quite nice. Those she had chosen were of a glossy black silk, with slit sleeves that met only at the shoulder and the wrist. But she wasn't used to wearing robes so form fitting (even if they did flare out at the waist), and the neckline plunged lower that she would have liked.

            Draco didn't say anything, but Sirius just nodded. "You look very nice, Mica," he commented. "Actually, I think Caroline might've had those robes at one time."

            She raised an eyebrow at Sirius and shot him a look that clearly asked if that was something she _really wanted to know about._

            Draco still didn't say anything, and Mica made a mental note to kick him later.

            "Uncle, could you kindly Key to Eleventh and get him and his sister here?" she inquired. "We need to have a wee get-together and strategize."

            "Certainly," he replied. "I'll just Apparate over to my flat and get the Key, shall I?"

            She nodded and he vanished with the swish that was common of Disapparation. Then she turned to Draco, perched on Narcissa's large, sumptuous bed. "Might you have some snacks on hand? I'm famished. Blood loss will do that to one."

            "You look lovely, you know," he said quite blankly. "Snacks, you say? I could take a look."

            "Are you quite all right? I didn't mean to give you a fright, truly." She frowned, placed a hand on his forehead. "You seem well. Yes, snacks. Perhaps tea?"

            "Oh – of course. I can manage that."

            Mica privately wondered if he _was quite well – she hadn't seen him rattled but once in all the time she had known him. It couldn't be her, certainly – Draco Malfoy, heir to untold wealth, had nubile women much lovelier and better disposed than she throwing themselves at his feet. Him, thrown all nervy by __her? A laughable thought._

            "I'll go call a house-elf," Draco announced, interrupting her reverie. He got up from his seat on the bed, which was certainly very expensive-looking, if not quite to her taste, and made for the door.

            "I'll come with you," she declared impetuously, seizing her wand and tucking it into a convenient pocket deep in the folds of her skirts. No matter if Narcissa Malfoy would've frozen had she set foot outside her warmly-heated quarters – the woman had a flare for common sense that made Mica wonder what she had been like.

            It made her wonder what her husband had been like, as well.

            She caught up to Draco about halfway down the hall that led from Narcissa's apartments to the main gallery. It wasn't so easy to run in the heavy silk, and she clung to his arm to stop him while she caught her breath.

            "Must you trail me everywhere?" he demanded.

            "No – but I'd like to meet the house-elves. There's one at Hogwarts – name of Dobby – who's said a lot of kind things about his old friends-"

            She was certain she heard him swear under his breath at that, but decided to ignore it.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            The woman called Ananda sat at the table in the kitchen of the vast home that had belonged to the Lupin family for untold generations, reading the brief epistle that had come in the post that morning with the day's requirement of potions.

_            Ananda – _

_            If you do not receive a parcel tomorrow as usual, do not concern yourself. There is an event this evening that requires my attendance – I have no way of ascertaining when I will return. You will find within three days' extra supply of the Mask potion._

_            Sincerely,_

_            S._

            She caressed the smooth parchment with the tips of her fingers, turned it over in her hands, stared at the spidery black handwriting that marched straight across it without really taking in any of those things at all. Danger again. She had told herself she could handle it; and she had, all those years when she had watched him go away to do what was right, for Dumbledore's sake. But this was different.

            Severus she trusted to take care of himself; he had done this for forty years, would do it for forty more, Merlin willing. But knowing that the two people she loved most would be there tonight, at the forging of the Dark Pact, was more than she could bear.

            She deftly measured out the day's potions for Caroline, set them out on the enameled tray that she always used. Remus had sent over some of his excellent chicken soup the day before – that would do well for lunch, she decided. And after lunch – she'd let Caroline know she'd be out, have George Weasley look in on her.

            A trip to the garden later, she arranged lunch on the tray and put a tulip (the magically enhanced garden produced flowers all year long) into a vase that Severus had given her on Ananda's eighteenth birthday, so many years before.

            Funny she was thinking so much about Severus today. She knew it would never work, was just impossible. No matter what she felt, there was still the fact that he had never opened up to her as friend, turned his back on her until she came crawling to him, begging him for a way to fulfill Ananda's last, desperate blessing. Remus and Caroline had been better friends that she could ever have dreamed of, two people who had made it possible for the agonies of leaving behind all of her past to be borne with the passage of time, if not without pain. But Severus…

            She dismissed him from her thoughts, began the long trek up the stairs to Caroline. It was the least she could do to serve her friend, she thought, to let her die in peace and in comfort, to let her know that she was loved.

            Caroline appeared asleep, so she crept in, trying to keep noise to a minimum as she placed the little enameled tray on the side table. But her friend must have been awake - she murmured, "Lunchtime already?"

            "Yes," she said with a smile. "I'm going to have to go out tonight, so I'll have George Weasley come keep an eye on you. You remember George?"

            Caroline ignored the question. "Tonight?"

            While she hated to distort the truth, she had to lie, for Caroline's well being and her own peace of mind. "It's a- a poetry reading."

            Her friend snorted. "You have always been a horrible actor, and this certainly isn't your best performance. I know what you're about. Are you worried for Severus?"

            She nodded dumbly.

            "Trust in your daughter," said Caroline. "She's quite an apt pupil, you know."

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Draco hadn't really thought her beautiful before. Elfin, gamin, pretty, perhaps – but when given the chance, Mica had that power that Granger had possessed, the power to shine with a radiant beauty, a beauty less of face than of spirit. Maybe she'd been shining all along. How could he have failed to notice?

            It was almost unbearable to be this close to her and not to touch her; and she was clutching his arm, smiling up at him, making it even worse. Incongruously, he remembered her as a serious, wise-eyed child – then, when he looked down at her, he saw that her eyes were still somber, even in their smile. He wished like hell that he could wipe that solemnity from her face, that look of faded weariness that hung there even as she laughed.

            "What?" she said, and he realised that he had stopped in his tracks to look at her. They were on the part of the second-floor hallway that bordered the south side of the gigantic, five-story Manor Library; a wooden rail separated them from the room.

            "Oh, nothing. Just reminiscing."

            She brought her hand up to touch the thin scar on her neck, perhaps unconsciously. "This won't be a repeat of the past."

            "Morgan said?" he asked.

            "Not in so many words. But my task cannot be completed without the destruction of the Dark Pact and all its partakers. You can't go out there tonight – it'll kill you."

            "Listen," he said to her, placing his hands on her upper arms and turning her towards him, "I have to go. I won't send you into danger alone." He lifted a hand to brush a loose strand away from her face, feeling his heart beat faster as he did so. Merlin, he prayed he wasn't blushing.

            "I won't let you die," she said simply.

            "Nor I you." He drew the Talisman out from beneath his robes. "My mother gave this to me when I was very little, it's some sort of protection talisman." He lifted it into the light, the owl's sapphire eyes glittering against the polished silver of the pendant. "You should wear it."

            Mica gasped. "Do you know what this _is?"_

            "It's just a talisman," he said quizzically. "Marcus has some deadly fear of it, though I can't understand why-"

            "This is the Amulet of Houle, what Morgan charged me to find and Wield." She sighed abruptly. "If only Lily Elizabeth hadn't been taken…"

            "Look, if you do Morgan's bidding, I'm sure she'll help you." Giving her no time to protest, he slipped the Amulet over her head, and it fell into place, the little owl resting in the hollow between her breasts. It looked as though it had been made for her. Then the owl's eyes glowed brightly blue, a glow that was as quick to disappear, as it had been to come.

            "Draco," she whispered, a strange look in her eyes, "Draco, do you know how this works?"

            A vague memory came into his mind; snow, many winters ago, himself as a child-not-a-child, no more than ten. His face freshly bruised by his father's angry hands. His mother's pearly tears, her thin hands shaking as she placed the Talisman, as she called it, over his head, while she spoke of it in the whisper-soft voice she always used with him when his father wasn't there. She had then given him a potion, resumed her mask of gaiety and invulnerability, but he remembered some of those words.

            "Yes," he said slowly, "I think I do…"

            Mica leaned forward and kissed him soundly.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            After a while, they were interrupted by a trembling house-elf who tugged on her silken skirts with trepidation. She disentangled herself with no small amount of reluctance and scowled at him.

            "Would Miss Mica be wanting a cup of tea?" he squeaked, nervously shifting his balance from one foot to the other.

            "Miss Mica" duly informed the house-elf that tea would be fine – when Master Sirius, Master Skunk, and Miss Emily arrived. Then she turned back to Draco's warm embrace.

            "Your parents will never allow it," he murmured into her ear.

            "Your tone is unconvincing. And my parents are in no state to be commenting on my romantic affairs at the moment," she told him, snuggling closer.

            He laughed. "Does snogging constitute an affair?"

            "I think that with you it will soon merit that classification." She pulled away from him a bit, looked up into his eyes. "We ought to talk."

            "I can think of better things to do," he offered, leaning against the handsome brocade wallpaper of the hall.

            "_Men," she snorted. "We could both die in the next twelve hours."_

            "Exactly." With that, he brought his lips to hers and succeeding in distracting her from her topic. Not that she had any problems with that…

            "Hell," Mica cursed under her breath, hearing the soft pitter-patter of feet. House-elf feet. "They must be here." Swiftly, she brushed her hair's messy waves back from her face. 

            Sirius, Skunk, and Emily seemed a bit perturbed to be greeted by a happy, smiling Mica, but didn't comment on it. She explained her plans to them over the house-elves' excellently prepared tea.

            "I know how these things work; they'll be expecting you to go second to last, just before Marcus," she said with a nod to Draco, "so I'll take your place. I can fake bloodshed with ease. Before he completes the final sentence of the spell, I'll shout out a counteracting line. Should override set spell boundaries and basically poison everyone to death with magical radiation."

            "And how are _you supposed to escape that?" her beloved snapped at her._

            "I'll take it as it comes," she replied flatly. "I've got experience."

            "Getting yourself _killed?"_

            Mica laid a hand on his arm, a seemingly comforting gesture that, she knew, contrasted oddly with the warning look in her eyes. "Hush." She became aware of three pairs of eyes on them, and cleared her throat. "I will not have any of you putting yourself in unnecessary danger because of me. _Any of you. Sirius, I know you've been planning a stakeout from the moment you heard that the ceremony would be here. Get your agents in the forest; it's about a quarter mile from the house in all directions, certainly enough to be safe. Skunk, you're to be under the big oak tree out back about six yards from the house. Be ready to run if anything happens. Emily," her blue eyes settled on her apprentice, "I know you need the experience, but this isn't something anyone but a Bearer should be mucking about with. You're a fair Healer; you wait on the border with Sirius. Draco, you stay with her."_

            "What?" he shouted.

            She gave him that dangerous warning look again, and he subsided. "Now, I've a team planned. Tell me who you want, first."

            Emily Montague blew a strand of blonde-brown hair out of her eyes. "Mike, we need Mrs. Potter. She's a Seer. If you think you can get her to lend a hand…" she trailed off. "Mr. Black?"

            "Remus," Sirius said immediately and unsurprisingly. "He'll want in as well. While you're at it, I know he'll be sending Severus Snape, which means Ananda Lupin will be coming as well."

            "I fail to see how one follows the other," Mica remarked dryly.

            "She thinks she's his nursemaid. I can't see how Remus allows it -" he shrugged, "But she'll be there, nonetheless. I'm not sure what she'll be doing – best let her work with Emily."

            Emily nodded. "Sounds fair enough to me. Sal?"

            Oddly enough, Skunk answered to this appellation without question. "Seems a fair crew you 'ave there. Per'aps you could ask Mizter Potter?"

            "_No. He'll be- he'll be hard to work with," Mica said firmly, wishing that Emily hadn't brought her uncle up. "He's all torn up over Lily Elizabeth. Aunt Ginny will be fine, though; she __never frets. Draco?"_

            "Headmistress McGonagall," he suggested. She blinked. "Well, she was the Bearer before Lee, you know…"

            "If that's everyone, I'll be makin' my way out 'bout now," Skunk announced. "I'll take Professor Lupin, if Em'll be goin' after Miz Potter. Weasel, how 'bout you go fin' McGonagall? Mizter Black, you an' Malfoy there can get wee Nandy Lupin and Snape."

            "Very well then," said Mica. "Draco, where's the Floo Powder in here?"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Ginny became aware of a sense of – anticipation? – at about twelve-thirty that afternoon. At that time she was presiding over a cup of tea and a half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich, reading the latest book by one of her old school friends, Karei, and painting her toenails, all while seated at the kitchen table.

            At quarter to one, the doorbell rang.

            She blew on her Wedgwood-blue toenails, on second thought, cast a Drying Charm on them, and then walked over to the door, pulling her messy red hair back into a ponytail. Without ceremony, she checked the door with her wand – it glowed green, meaning the visitor was friendly – and unlocked it.

            Her visitor was a girl, a year or so younger that Mica. The girl was of an average height, perhaps two inches shorter than she herself, with amicable, starry-blue eyes and messy dishwater blonde hair.

            "Hi, Mrs. Potter. I'm Emily Montague," the girl said, extending a hand. "Mike's – Mica's apprentice. We have a bit of a… situation tonight, and we'd appreciate if you'd lend a hand. Perhaps you could get Mr. Potter to watch the boys."

            Ginny raised an eyebrow. "I think you ought to come in." She turned around and led her visitor into the living room, a room that had changed very little in the eighteen years she had lived in the cottage. She took a seat on the couch; Emily chose to remain standing. "Does this have anything to do with the disappearance of my daughter?"

            "Mike believes that it does. You have Seen nothing in this matter?" Emily asked, her tone kind.

            "Seeing is not clear patterns, dear. I have Seen what Mica does and will do in this matter; but I have Seen nothing of Lily Elizabeth. Yet. Is the Sight why you wish me at hand at the hour of the Dark Pact's forging?" The girl was silent. "It is as I thought. Tell me the place and the hour, and I will be there."

            "Thank you," Emily said, and Ginny realised that in this girl there was a formidable capability. Mica had chosen well. "You mustn't tell Mr. Potter, of course – perhaps you could say that you are visiting Ms. Newman?"

            "That would be feasible. Would you like me to accompany you back now?"

            "No, that's okay; if you could Apparate to the forest outside Malfoy Manor at quarter to midnight, there'll be someone to meet you."

            She sighed. "Has Draco Malfoy returned to the Dark Lord's side already?"

            Emily laughed at this. "Oh, no, ma'am. He's a double agent." Then she grew serious again. "Of course, that's only because of Mike."

            "She has done something even I could not do?" Ginny sighed, brought her hand to her temple. Maybe the cards were sliding into place now, but she still failed to see resolution in them… "I knew him, when I was young."

            "I think she may have resources that you did not," Emily said.

            "Such as?"

            "He would die for her."

            Ginny gazed out the window at her garden of flowers.

            "I thought that, too, once," she said slowly. "Long ago…"

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            They brought Snape back from Hogwarts with them; he'd made arrangements for his absence, as well as Remus's and Emily's. Before they headed back to Malfoy Manor, however, they made a stop at the Lupin home. It was large and impressive, which contrasted oddly with his memories of Lupin's tattered robes.

            Ananda came out to greet them, her face stern as always, but her expression softened when she saw Snape.

            "You have come for me?" she asked gently. Draco noticed how much she looked like Remus, even if her hair was dark red.

            Snape nodded. "I wouldn't have left you behind, even if they hadn't needed you. I know you'd have followed me."

            She smiled wryly. "You know me well, Severus Snape. I've arranged for George Weasley to watch Caroline during the evening. I can leave now, if you like."

            He found it amusing that they tread so decorously around the fact that they were both obviously potty over each other. Perhaps because he knew that he and Mica had done the same thing for the last week or so. Sirius didn't seem aware of it, which was probably for the best; he wasn't sure how Sirius would take the idea of Snape and Lupin's daughter.

            Knowing Sirius, probably not too well.

            "Let's go," Draco said, clearing his throat. "We ought to get back soon; I don't like to think of the possibilities that arise when Salazar Montague is given the run of Malfoy Mansion."

            Ananda and Snape glanced guiltily at each other, then, as one, cringed. He wasn't sure how Ananda knew Skunk, but Snape must have had to put up with him for five years…

            "On the move, then," Sirius declared, and he Disapparated. After a moment, Draco followed him.

            He found Emily and Mica in a cozy corner of the vast library; Emily was poring over a heavy tome entitled _How to Frighten, Terrorize, and Otherwise Scare the Shit out of Your Enemy from Various Distances. Mica was curled up on a couch, asleep, her hair falling over her eyes._

            "Sal's in the kitchen scaring the living daylights out of the house-elves," said Emily without looking up. "Mike's taking a nap. Read aloud half-way through the first page before she fell asleep. Fortunately."

            "Fortunately?" he asked.

            "Lots of German quotes. Can't say more than 'Guten Tag!' and 'Mein Gott'. Hogwarts ought to offer foreign languages."

            He shrugged and sat down next to his angel, who blinked open her eyes and smiled at him. "I wasn't really asleep, you know," she murmured. "Emily, you'll have to get someone to tutor you." With a laugh, he leaned over and kissed her on the nose.

            "Not Mica," he added. "She'll be busy."

            Emily, however, appeared absorbed in her book once more.

            He spent the rest of the afternoon helping Mica with her job of finding the Dark Pact in one of the books in the library.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            It was nearly eight at night before they found it. Searching charms couldn't be used in the library; Malfoy Manor had strange wards in place to protect itself from thieves. And traitors.

            They found it, oddly enough, amongst a jumble of papers beneath a slender diary in a locked box labeled _Effects of Ismene Goddard-Malfoy, 1007-1024. After some closer examination of the diary, Mica decided that girl - for she had been only 17 - had been Salazar Slytherin's serving-girl or illegitimate relation of some kind, and he had taken enough of a liking to her to insure that she received some of the papers of his pertaining to his research._

            It took a moment for this to sink in. "Draco," she said, "Could this be how your family got the Amulet? Oh - and these must be some of the papers the Great Pensieve told of!"

            "Hmm," he said non-commitally. "What's this?"

            And so it was that they found the Dark Pact's secret words written down on an inconspicuous, powdery piece of parchment. She read the words silently; neither of them were fools enough to speak them aloud.

_            Blood of innocents, sacrificed with good intent_

_            And blood of the followers, freely given_

_            A light we snuff out! darkness overcomes!_

_            Our hands cover that lone flame_

_            Embrace the abscence of light here_

_            Embrace that abscence, and the presence of power_

_            On the blood of darkness, on the snake of_

_            Salazar Slytherin himself! We swear_

_            The brotherhood of darkness is pledged here_

            "How awful!" Mica hissed, horrified. "I swear, by the power of Morgan vested in me, they will not live to speak such treacherous words." She shivered. "By Slytherin, indeed. Had Accolon known the daughter he fathered would give birth to such a treacherous spawn..."

            "Is it too much?" Draco asked her. "Harry could... Minerva could..."

            "No," she shook her head, "They couldn't. _They are not the Morgan Incarnate."_

            She heard him gasp, but after a moment, to her surprise, he gathered her to him, gave her peace in his warm embrace. "Mica, love," he told her, "If anyone ever could be Morgan Incarnate, I would wish it to be you."

            "Why?"

            "Because you have integrity enough to save the most fallen of us. I love you beyond reason, you know."

            She looked up into his stormy grey eyes. "And I you. I may not come back, you know; but either way, I will not leave this realm until I have made it safe for you and the Morgan Incarnate to follow. I promise you this."

            He held her like that for a few moments longer; then they got up and went in search of the appropriate disguise for her.

            It did not take them long to find one; she wore a large woolen cloak of Narcissa's that completely enveloped her body and hid her face with its hood. She shuddered as she looked in the mirror.

            "Bad memories?" Draco asked.

            "They are worse in satin," she said. "I have killed with hooded robes on before. This will be no different." He did not ask any more of her, and for that she was profoundly grateful. "To the courtyard I will go, and you to the forest."

            "Goddess bless," her love said, and disapparated.

            "Goddess bless all of us," she whispered as she walked through the doorway to a world both nightmare and fantasy.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Caroline sighed, sat slumped with her head in her hands. George Weasley had fallen asleep in the overstuffed, silk-upholstered chair she had come to know so well, and she was finally free from hovering, if well-meaning, eyes. For the moment.

            She maneuvered herself off the bed with some difficulty, but she knew that now was the moment. Now was the hour in which her sacrifice would make the most difference. She took the Wand with her. Morgan Incarnate had been her burden, and her blessing, but she did not feel as though Morgan was wholly separate from her now. Perhaps all Maidens experienced this at the end of their time.

            As she wobbled down the oaken stairs, she thought of the vast difference between Maidens and Seers. Seers, she decided, grew hard with age; Ginny had been a beautiful girl, and beautiful she was still. But terrible, yes, a harsh and terrible Queen of a woman. She was glad Lee had never grown old, for a moment. But she remembered Lee was both Bearer and Seer, as Geneva had been. Perhaps she would have remained closer to human...

            She thought of light, and beauty, and entropy - as the disorder of the universe increased with time, growing and growing, so did she learn that disorder came to fruition within her. Disorder, yes - and madness?

            Minerva was distant - perhaps this was a burden for her and her alone... What was she thinking of again? Why had she come down here, to the living room? Oh, yes, now she remembered. She saw the moonlight on the heavy oak of the floor, and thought of Remus. Severus and Ananda. A life in exile.

            The room was red and gold - colours of Gryffindor, she had been told. Would she have been a Gryffindor? Oh, she couldn't think - couldn't remember. The entropy of the universe was always increasing. Disorder, chaos. This was madness.

            Sacrifice, Caroline remembered. Sacrifice was control. Her life would be hers for the dispensing; her thread of Fate would be hers for the measuring. And the cutting to follow.

            She remembered a girl who had come to her, terrified and ill, eighteen years before. On a silent moonlit night like this one. And she dreamed of a woman, still beautiful beneath her cloakings, who would someday find the path from loneliness again. Ananda...

            But she herself was too far gone, now. She took the Wand in her hand, felt its familiar emerald smoothness. Dreams, surrender. A memory of Eric, Lee.

            **_Is this truly what you want? __Morgan asked her._**

_            **It has always been my dream to help her. Save the Morgan Incarnate, protect her. Let her grieve in a shelter of love, she whispered.**_

_            **So be it, said Morgan. Did she imagine a shadow of sorrow in her voice?**_

            She tightened her grip on the wand, and her last thought was of beauty. She could embrace the disorder...

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            They had all congregated in one grove on the outskirts of the forest, the eight of them. Himself, Sirius, Skunk, Emily, McGonagall, Lupin, and of course Ananda and Snape. There were only two of their number missing - Mica, dressed in hooded robes, standing in the courtyard of Malfoy Manor, and Ginny- Ginny Potter. Draco still found it terribly difficult to pair those two names together.

            Ananda and Snape were over in a corner, arguing together; McGonagall, Lupin, and Sirius were engaged in a discussion of emergency procedures; Emily and Skunk were merely perched up in a tree, looking at the Manor apprehensively; and he stood alone. Waiting for something, anything...

            A woman with fiery red Weasley hair emerged from the innards of the forest, standing tall and proud. Her hair was one of the few things that had not changed over the years. 

             He felt even more terribly alone as he watched her; flickering memories of young Ginny, _his Ginny flashed before eyes. He measured the miles between his Ginny and this one, and saw the difference. This Ginny belonged to no one, save herself; this Ginny was pure and strong. This Ginny had __power._

            He was surprised that, once she had greeted them as a whole, it was he she turned to talk to. He, Draco Malfoy, he who had sent her away. To save her.

            "Hello," she said, her voice friendly. "I have heard that congratulations may be in order?"

            "Heard?" He turned away from her, laughed. "Seen, no doubt. Don't offer me congratulations now. I just want her out of there. Alive."

            He couldn't see her face, but he knew she was smiling as she spoke. "Do you think the Sight can help her now? I trust in the powers that be. Trust is important."

            "She is the Morgan Incarnate. I don't think trust is enough."

            Ginny yanked sharply at his elbow, spun him towards her. "Do you know," she said lightly, "I would have killed you on sight had I not known that she loves you? I ask that you do not interfere with Morgan's workings. The Morgan Incarnate cannot be helped by you."

            "Who will there be to help her?" he found himself asking desperately.

            "Those two whose hands are fit to support her, those two who have bourne loss and devastation to make sacrifices for her." She looked toward the vast hunk of marble that was the Manor. "Caroline and Ananda."

            "What sacrifices?"

            "From Ananda, her past. From Caroline, her future."

            He would have asked more, but at that moment, they both became aware of a large, greenish cloud hovering over the courtyard.

            Ananda screamed, and before anyone could do anything, she ran, ran towards the cursed Manor...

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            They were all there by half-past eleven, all twenty-six of the League of Purebloods, milling about, anonymous save for Marcus, who had thrown back his hood. Mica, who had heard tales of Death Eaters, found a chilling parallel. She did not allow herself to dwell on it for long, however.

            The courtyard was encircled by wings of the Manor on three sides, while the other was a high wall. Three great arches were cut into this wall for doors of metal bars. The only light in the courtyard came from the lights of the Manor and the waning moon overhead. In the center, there was a large, oblong marble table; what it supported was covered by a cloth.

Feet tapped on the cobblestone floor, and she shivered.

            She found the Leaguer she was searching for by her green-sequined boots.

            "Blaise," she called softly, "Could I speak with you?"

            Marcus Flint's wife looked up at her sharply, her hood sliding back to reveal her face in its shadows. "Do I know you?" she asked.

            "You did, once. Your husband served me before his death. I am the Morgan Incarnate."

            Blaise stared at her for a moment, than shook her head. "What business do I have with Morgan, Incarnate or otherwise?"

            "Business enough. If you are not gone from here within the quarter-hour, shall I take Salazar and Emily into my care?"

            "What do you mean by that? Do not threaten me. You have no power here."

            "You are wrong," she said, clutching the cloak closer to her, for it was eerily cold this night. "It is because of this power that I warn you. You are the only person worthy of warning here, and if you choose to escape certain death, I would not condemn you. You have beautiful children, Blaise. Children who know their part on this night better than you."

            Blaise said nothing; she only turned and walked away, immersing herself in the throng of Leaguers. Well, Mica thought to herself, she had tried. No one could fault her for that.

            The League began to form a circle around the center of the courtyard, where Marcus stood next to the table, and she quickly took the vacant spot next to the one she assumed that Marcus had requested for himself.

            The man she so hated was unwrapping something... she craned forward to see... it was a bundle of papers. She realised what they were - the membership papers signed in blood, those of the League of Warlocks. _The blood of innocents, she thought, sickened. But then she realized what was on the table… a body. Another innocent?_

            "_Inflamare!" Marcus Flint shouted, pointing his wand at the bundles, and they began to burn, slowly at first, but the flames grew higher and higher, licking the sides of the table…_

            The Leaguers shuffled forth, one by one, to add their offerings of blood to the fire - 

            "_Blood of innocents, sacrificed with good intent-"_

            - and she realised who the body was - 

            "_And blood of the followers, freely given-"_

            - her blood could only show Lee-as-was, not Lee-as-is, after all -

            "_A light we snuff out! darkness overcomes!"_

            - how could she have been so blind?

            "_Our hands cover that lone flame-"_

_            - but she had faith, for she was the Morgan Incarnate.___

_            "__Embrace the abscence of light here-"_

            - quickly, she unclasped the Amulet from her neck -__

_            "__Embrace that abscence, and the presence of power-"_

            - grasped it firmly in her hand -__

_            "__On the blood of darkness, on the snake of-"_

            - and resigned herself to Death, the completion of the cycle.__

_            "__Salazar Slytherin himself! We swear-"_

            "That Morgan will strike down you unbelievers here!" she cried out, stepping forward and obliterating the flames with a single thought. She ripped the sheet off the table and placed the Amulet on the unconscious body of her sister, before raising her hands and unleashing the green power that was _Death, the final and most terrible face of the Goddess. She let it run through her as water ran through a fountain, until it was no longer Death, but only power..._

            Strangely, Mica felt a bubble of protection surround her... a thin bubble, to be sure... but a bubble with strength enough to hold both magic and Lady Death at bay, for the moment. It seemed faintly golden, in her mind-sight; for she could not _see_ it, she saw only the green light and fallen, falling League, but out of the corner of her eyes she saw glimmers of gold. But wavering gold…

            It was then that the central archway's door swung open, slamming against the wall with a screech of metal. The woman that had pushed it open stood there, wand in hand.

            "_Munire_!" Ananda cried, pointing that wand at the invisible bubble, and suddenly it became, real, substantial, and, yes, gold-tinted. But tinted now with red, as well.

            She collapsed inside the bubble, tired, all of the sudden… feeling the comforting hands of Morpheus upon her…

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            The woman called Ananda had been standing at the edge of the forest, telling Severus he could _not_ go in, when she heard a voice in her ear, a voice that seemed almost a memory of a dream…

            **_Do you wish a chance to save your daughter_**_? the voice asked. It was a woman's voice, sweet and weary, but still quite regal._

_            **More than anything!** she had cried._

            **Then sacrifice your past,** the voice had said. **Your daughter is the Morgan Incarnate, and she must be strong. You would be her weakness. Go now, and keep silent; I will keep my hand on you.**

            She had screamed, less in terror than in warning, before she ran down the hill, down the sloping land that lead up to Malfoy Manor.** Severus had grabbed her by the elbow, tried to stop her; but she had shaken free of him, and given him a look that said more than she trusted her voice with at the moment. _She is not your daughter. I love you._**

            The green cloud swirled up into the night sky, and she wondered what it had been like for Sirius, forty years before, coming to Godric's Hollow and finding that same haze hovering there. But she knew that this must be different; for the haze would have been thin there, blown away partially by the wind. There were twenty-five for her daughter to destroy here. The smoggy haze was thick.

            She finally reached one of the arched gateways into the courtyard, threw it open. To her surprise, the girl was still upright, encased in a protective bubble of some sort…

            "_Munire_!" She quickly cast a Fortification Charm on it. It grew steadily more opaque… and then her daughter collapsed in it.

            Strangely, however, the shield spell didn't fail – it simply seemed to coat her daughter's body, covering her head to toe, still glowing faintly. She picked her daughter up – she was surprisingly light – and for the first time, she got a good look at her face.

            "_Oh_," she said softly. They could have been twins.

            She carried her daughter as far up the hill as she dared, for the Fortification Charm had taken a lot out of her. Then she lay Mica down in the grass gently, straightened herself, and yelled, "_Someone!_ Help me!"

            "I'm coming!" two voices yelled, almost in tandem. Before she knew it, Draco Malfoy, of all people, had gathered her daughter up in his arms and was tenderly carrying her up the hill. And the other voice-

            "What the hell did you think you were doing?" Severus said in a silky tone she had not heard since her student days, and that usually shortly after something very important had exploded. He was also looming over her in manner that suggested she might not live to regret her actions.

            "Saving my daughter, damn it," she snapped. "I don't abandon the people I love to the forces of evil lightly, as you well know. You have _no_ right to treat me like some idiot first year-"

            "Hermione, I thought I'd _lost_ you!" he hissed, and she stood there in shock until he kissed her.

            **_You can take my past,__ she told the voice. _****_It's a price I'm willing to pay.___**

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

            Draco spent the next two days at her bedside; they had put her in Narcissa's old apartments, which were both spacious and convenient. Ananda reassured him several times that Mica was perfectly fine, it was simply the power channeling that had gotten to her, but he still worried.

            On the eve of the second day, she woke, blinking her blue eyes in the fading rays of sunset. She said nothing until the stars came out, preferring to lie there cloaked in silence, her fingers twined in his.

            As the moon rose in the sky, she spoke. "It's all over now, isn't it?"

            "The mess with the League, yes. Marcus Flint is dead," he said, surprised at the satisfaction he felt.

            "And Blaise…" she whispered. "I warned her. I tried. Oh, Draco, who am I to be the judge and jury? How did that serve justice? How?"

            "There will be no more pain for her. Not in this life. She left her entire fortune to Salazar and Emily, you know. I think Ananda and Snape are going to take them in until they reach their majority."

            "Ananda and Snape?" There was no small amount of amusement in her voice. "Where did _that_ come from?"

            He shrugged. "No odder than us, I suppose."

            She rolled over a little on her side to look at him; he sat on the edge of the bed. He was surprised to see her eyes smile along with her mouth, and he knew they had forever lost that opacity she had always hid behind as a child. "We're not odd," she protested, grinning. "We're odder than odd."

            With a smile, he kissed her quickly – for he remembered what he had to tell her. "Mica… Caroline, she, well…"

            "I know."

            "You can't possibly."

            She shook her head, wincing a little as she did so. Draco reminded himself that she was still very weak, so perhaps he ought not to bring it up- "She's dead, isn't she."

            He blinked, startled. "Yes. That night."

            "Don't be sad," she said kindly. "While I was asleep, I dreamed… oh, strange things. I know Lily Elizabeth is all right – Snape must have had some Puffapod Potion on him. I dreamed of you dancing with Aunt Ginny, and sending her away to Uncle Harry, when you were all very young… and I dreamed of Caro. She was dressed in white, at the end of a long hallway, and she was bathed in light. She looked up at me, and she said, 'I'm going home.' Caro laughed then, and oh, what a beautiful laugh it was! It was like bells. Don't be sad, Draco. She's home now. She's at peace."

            He took Mica into his arms and held her, and he wished that Caroline had known the gift she had given them. The gifts she had given all of them, in one way or another.

**Coming Soon:**

Epilogue 

Much thanks to my SevenOfQuills sisters: Andie, karei, Kellie, Liss, Plu, and Tabi Jo. *hugs* You're wonderful, all of you. Extra special thanks to Andie for beta-ing. Also thanks to my RL friend Sean for offering to beta. *hugs* to Athene for her lovely pictures.

Come join us at SevenOfQuills! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SevenOfQuills/ 


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue Three Weeks Later 

            Ginny Weasley sat at the kitchen table, touching up her Wedgwood-blue toenails, as she read the _Daily_ _Prophet_ and attempted to eat scrambled eggs. Ron and Sirius had already been gotten off to school – thank Merlin – and Harry sat across from her. He had the day off. She wasn't feeling particularly thankful about that, however. Her husband was suffering from an act of over-protectiveness brought on, she suspected, by the whole incident at the beginning of the month. Among other things.

            "Look here, Harry!" she exclaimed, suddenly spotting some familiar names in the paper. "You'll never guess who's just gotten married. Oh, this is _rich_, this is."

            "Who?" her husband asked interestedly.

            She showed him the announcement. "Ananda Lupin and Severus Snape! Now that's an unlikely couple if there ever was one. I'm wondering how Sirius is taking the news. He practically considers her his own, poor dear."

            "Poor dear!" Harry snorted. "I'm pitying Snape right now. Assuming he's alive."

            "Oh, I doubt Sirius is as over-protective as you are, darling."

            "Sirius's pregnant wife didn't decide to go picnicking with a bunch of mad wizards about to forge the Dark Pact!"

            "Well, of course not," she said sensibly. "Sirius doesn't have a wife."

            "That's not the _point._"

            "Harry, the little one is fine, and it's not as if I was ever actually in any danger. I didn't even know then. Believe me, I'd like to have as little to do with Highly Dangerous Official Ministry Business in the future as possible."

            He sighed. "Some days, I wonder whether it'll be you or the boys giving me that first heart attack."

            They sat there and began to finish off their breakfast. However, before they were quite done, breakfast was abruptly interrupted by a tapping at the window.

            "It's Skywalker," Harry said, sounding surprised. "The letter's addressed to you."

            She took the letter from him, scanned the contents briefly, and laughed. "Are you sitting down, Harry?"

            "Obviously."

            "Good. _Petrificus Totalus. Silencio._"

            Harry said nothing, but she was sure her husband was curious. 

            "Here's what the letter says," she said. 

" '_Dear Aunt Ginny, _

" '_Please make sure that Uncle Harry is sitting down. Perhaps you should move any fragile objects in his reach… oh, forget about it. Just use a full Body-Bind and Silencing Charm. Have you? Good. Just wanted you two to be the first to whom I sign myself, _

" '_With love, _

" '_Mica Malfoy._' " Ginny smiled. "Isn't that sweet? They've eloped."

            Harry didn't say anything, but she was sure he was elated.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            The second Lee Incarnate was seated at the Gryffindor table, eating breakfast, when she received her letter. 


End file.
